#i like to think ghost like. emits a low humming

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟐𝟕. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝❟ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡

You don’t work or play by the rules. So what if that’s unfair? This is a dog-eat-dog world, and the losers get left behind.

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 4.4k

Pairing— femme fatale!dom!gn!reader x CEO!sub!nanami

cws/tags— dub-con, blackmail (non-consensual filming), sadistic & manipulative reader, reader is gn but has the femme fatale personality, handjob, denied orgasm, very dialogue heavy, petnames (“mister”—it’s ironic, I swear), seduction, porn w/ plot, nanami is def ooc but we move

Stepping into Nanami Kento’s office, you were greeted by an aura of opulence. Mahogany desks and leather chairs exude sophistication. Sunlight filtered through expansive windows, casting a warm glow on plush carpets. A massive desk stood at the centre, impeccably organised with high-tech gadgets. Bookshelves held volumes on leadership and success. A cosy seating area boasted a plush sofa for informal discussions. Crystal decanters held aged spirits atop a sideboard. The atmosphere is both commanding and comfortable, a reflection of power and accomplishment, much like the CEO himself.

“You're late,” Nanami said, his voice monotone. 

His words slid out with the click-clack of his keyboard, his gaze fixed on the screen as he typed away. You stepped into the room, the gentle swish of your clothing brushing the air as you approached.

“I'm not late,” you responded, your voice a composed counterpoint to his. “You’re just early.”

The subtle rustle of paper on the desk danced beneath the weight of your words. A faint huff of a sigh escaped him, a sound as controlled as his meticulously timed schedule. Disciplined. Unflappable. A smile ghosted across Nanami's lips, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You're my personal assistant,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of authority, “and I'm the CEO, ergo, I am always on time.”

"My, my," you remarked playfully, "Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

You glided across the expanse of the office, the soft rustle of your steps harmonizing with the gentle fluttering of a neatly organised stack of colour-coded papers as you set them down in a tray. A wry smile tugged at his lips.

"You're well aware that my patience for idle chatter is limited, and yet you persist in indulging in it," his voice rippled, a controlled undertone of exasperation tracing each syllable.

A subtle sigh slipped from your lips, and you found yourself easing against the edge of his desk, a connection between you and the polished surface. His fingers danced across the keyboard, a symphony of clicks and clacks that held his full attention, leaving you in the periphery.

"Any luck in your pursuit of the elusive mole?" Your words held a touch of frustration, "It's as if the leaks are gaining a life of their own, more persistent with each passing day."

In response, Nanami emitted a contemplative hum, a low note that resonated like distant thunder. "No luck so far," he mused, his voice a steady rhythm. "I’m having the matter investigated."

“You keep saying that, but nothing’s changed. You’re no closer to finding them, are you?” you spoke with a hint of weariness.

"That's classified information," he responded absentmindedly, his attention still tethered to the computer.

A wisp of frustration danced through your tone, like a fleeting shadow cast by a cloud passing over the sun. “I’m your personal assistant. I work for this company. Don’t you think I should know?” 

"No," his response fell with the weight of finality, a single syllable that seemed to close the door on any further discussion. “Oh, and please rearrange my appointments and schedule them to be spread out over next week. Make sure they’re at quieter times,” Nanami's voice rolled out, a desert breeze carrying his words with a touch of dryness. 

His instructions hung in the air, like a solitary tumbleweed drifting through the vast expanse of conversation. Tense. Stiff.

“Right. Of course, I’ll handle that,” you said with a tight smile.

✦•···················•✦•···················•✦

As you stepped into Nanami's office once again, the day's familiarity seemed to have taken a toll on him. The air felt different, thick with a weariness that hung around him like a heavy shroud. Unlike his usual poised stance, he now slouched in his chair—an uncommon sight that hinted at the cracks beneath his composed exterior. His blazer lay discarded, and his tie now hung in a relaxed loop, an admission of defeat.

"Hey, mister?" your voice was a gentle note, carrying with it a touch of casual familiarity.

A low, almost exasperated groan rumbled from his throat. "I've reminded you before not to address me like that," he muttered, his response laced with a note of resigned annoyance.

Your lips curved into a playful smile as you ventured further into the office, a glimmer of mischief dancing in your eyes. "You know, deep down, you don't mind it."

A heavy sigh accompanied his response, a mixture of exasperation and resignation. "I assure you, I do indeed mind it."

Your retort danced through the air like, a sing-song lilt that brushed against his ears. "Oh, but I beg to differ. It's just one of those little things that make our interactions all the more interesting, mister."

A grumbled complaint slipped from his lips, a muttered protest that bore the weight of his vexation. Your soft laughter swirled in response, a ripple of amusement. Despite his discontent, there was a subtle warmth in the air, a familiarity that seemed to soften the edges of his irritation.

Taking purposeful steps, you approached his desk with an air of ease, your movements a graceful choreography as you began to tidy the scattered papers, pens, and stationery that lay strewn across its surface. You leaned your phone against a stack of folders, propping it up. The soft clinks and rustles of objects finding their proper places formed a familiar symphony of order being restored.

Seated now on the edge of his desk, your presence became the focal point of the room as you regarded him with a tilt of your head. Your gaze held a mixture of intrigue and amusement, a silent reminder that amidst the rigors of his role, a moment of reprieve was found in your interactions.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear. Is something the matter?”

Nanami’s response was a heavy exhalation that held a burden of weariness too profound to be carried by mere words.

"Another breach occurred not long ago," his words carried the weight of a confession, spoken with a tinge of resignation. His eyes remained closed, a refuge from the world's chaos that seemed to press upon him relentlessly. "This time, it's worse. The most sensitive data yet has been exposed to the public. PR is grappling with the fallout, and Finance is in utter disarray."

"And so soon after the last one," you murmured, the words gentle. “You look tired, mister. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers, a gesture of both fatigue and frustration, and at last, his eyes lifted to meet your gaze. Even from a distance, the telltale shadows under his eyes were evident, testimony to the toll his responsibilities had exacted.

"Don’t call me that," his voice emerged rough and worn. Exhausted.

Undeterred, your inquiry persisted, soft yet insistent. "So, tell me—have you been caring for yourself?"

A moment of stillness hung in the air, punctuated by the weight of unspoken thoughts. Then, his reply emerged, a sentence that bore the weight of conviction. "My primary duty is to safeguard the company."

A playful glint sparked in your eyes, and your expression shifted into a mockingly stern glare. You smoothly slid off the edge of the desk, your movements fluid and graceful, as you began a deliberate saunter towards his side of the desk. With each step, a subtle sway graced your hips, a movement that was both confident and teasing in nature. The air seemed to carry a touch of lightheartedness, a momentary diversion from the weight of the situation at hand.

A theatrical tsk escaped your lips, carrying with it a sense of exaggerated disappointment to playfully scold him. "Oh dear, dear mister. Letting yourself go to ruins is simply unacceptable. As your ever-watchful PA, I can't stand by and let you suffer."

With purposeful steps, you rounded the desk, your movements fluid and deliberate. The air seemed to hold a hint of anticipation, a quiet thrill woven into the atmosphere.

As you stood behind his chair, your hands found their way to his shoulders, their presence an assertion of care. Your touch was confident, fingers dancing with practiced skill as they worked to knead away the knots of tension that had taken residence in his muscles. He stiffened beneath your touch, a reflexive reaction to the unfamiliar sensation, yet your assurance seemed to melt the resistance away. While surprise lingered in the air, there was also a sense of yielding, a quiet acceptance of the relief you offered.

Nanami's words carried a note of reluctance, a protest against the unexpected intrusion of your care. "I didn't ask for this," his voice murmured, a touch of reservation threading through his words.

A knowing smile curved your lips, your fingers working with practiced ease as you continued to knead away the knots in his shoulders. "You didn't need to ask," you replied smoothly, your tone carrying a touch of reassurance that seemed to seep into the very air around you.

A brief silence settled between you, punctuated by the rhythm of your touch. Then his voice emerged once more, a murmur tinged with both realization and resignation. "You're my PA."

"And what does PA stand for?"

His reply held a touch of understanding, a recognition that seemed to settle the matter. "Personal assistant."

"Exactly," you whispered, “I’m your personal assistant.”

You let the silence hang in the air. Your hands continued their gentle ministrations, the cotton fabric of his shirt crinkling beneath your fingertips. As your fingers traversed the landscape of his shoulders, they encountered the subtle contours and defined edges of a physique sculpted by discipline.

Time seemed to melt, a river that flowed at its own unhurried pace. Slowly, the tension in him began to yield, a reluctant surrender that mirrored the reluctant acceptance in his posture. The weight of his responsibilities seemed to wane, at least momentarily, under the soothing spell of your touch.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, a melodic note that floated through the air as your hands continued their soothing dance. 

"You really ought to take better care of yourself, mister," your words held a touch of playful admonishment, a reminder woven with concern. "Your muscles are like a stone wall."

The response that came was curt, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he pushed back against your insistence. "I'm fine, and I've asked you not to address me that way."

"How many nights have you found yourself working overtime again?" Your question hung in the air like a gentle nudge, an invitation for him to acknowledge the reality of his situation.

A pause, and then his voice emerged, a touch gruff yet revealing of the underlying truth. "It doesn't matter."

A note of knowing crept into your voice, “Doesn’t matter? You hate working overtime.”

"I'm the CEO, and I must prioritize what's in the best interest of the company, regardless of the personal cost."

A contemplative hum escaped your lips as your skilled fingers traveled to his neck, where tension seemed to have found another stronghold. His reaction was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, his gaze meeting yours with a furrowed brow and a hesitant parting of his lips that hinted at a forthcoming objection, yet it remained unspoken.

The soothing pressure of your fingers worked its magic, coaxing the knots to unravel beneath your touch. As you continued your massage, a question emerged from your lips, gentle yet probing. "So, if you don't take care of yourself, then who takes care of you?"

Nanami’s response held an air of stubborn independence, a declaration of self-sufficiency against the encroachment of care. "I'm an adult. I don't need anyone to look after me."

Your voice dipped to a murmur, a whisper that seemed to bridge the gap between you and him, and your warm breath brushed across the nape of his neck. "Who takes care of you?" you repeated, your words a gentle caress against his skin.

His response, however, was unwavering, a declaration that seemed to echo with an unyielding determination. "I take care of myself.”

A playful smirk curved your lips as your fingers wove through the strands of his sleek, blond hair, a gesture that seemed to stir a reaction deep within him. His breath caught in his throat, a shuddering exhale that betrayed the impact of your touch.

“Some things are better done by yourself… some things.”

You leaned in closer, your presence enveloping him as the back of Nanami’s head nestled against your chest. The warmth of your body radiated against his back as your skilled fingers continued their massage, now tracing delicate patterns across his scalp. Your nails grazed along the tender areas, setting off a cascade of sensations that seemed to quicken his breath. 

The combination of your sinuous touch and the implications woven into your words created a heady tension in the room. His heart responded with an erratic beat, a rhythm that threatened to betray the carefully impassive expression he wore. Yet, he remained composed, a façade of control in the face of the enticing distraction you presented.

“Is it hard?”

His breath hitched, and he coughed. “P-Pardon?”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh. Leaning closer, your lips brushed the delicate shell of his ear, your words a sultry whisper that set his skin ablaze. “Being CEO. Is it hard, Kento?” you murmured, uttering his name with a familiarity that had been absent for far too long.

It was as if a barrier had crumbled, a threshold crossed, and the effect was electrifying. The weight of his name on your lips seemed to hang in the air like a revelation. After a year of playful nicknames—of godforbidden “mister”—and dances around formality, this simple act held a weight of significance. Oh, his name had never sounded so sweet in his entire life.

With an effortful composure, he replied, his voice carrying a veneer of forced calmness. "It's perfectly within my control."

The sound of your voice, the proximity of your breath, seemed to amplify the tension in the room. He closed his eyes, as if seeking refuge from the turmoil that swirled within him, struggling to steady his breathing.

But your words, like a siren's song, continued their subtle seduction. "Stressed, Kento?" you purred, the name a velvet caress against his ear.

As your hands slid down, tracing the contours of his neck and finding their way to the concealed muscles beneath his shirt, his heart quickened its rhythm. A smile, hidden from his view, danced upon your lips, a sign of the satisfaction you derived from the effect you had on him. You pressed a kiss upon the sensitive skin just below one of his earlobes, a gesture that sent a shiver through him. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, the air electrified by an unspoken desire.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered.

“You want me to,” you murmured back, “And you want it badly.”

Your hands continued their exploratory journey, tracing a path of tantalizing sensation down his chest, each touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. They ventured lower, gliding over the firm expanse of his abdomen, mapping the contours of his physique. 

As your fingers descended further, they encountered the defined muscles of his thighs, your touch igniting a web of sensations that seemed to pulse through his body. He remained still, his breathing now increasing, his body responding to the magnetic allure of your touch. The room pulsed with a charged energy, begging to be acknowledged.

His hands closed around your wrists, putting a halt to the tantalizing journey of your hands, but they didn't push you away. The tension in the room hung thick, a precarious balance between restraint and desire.

"This is a workplace," Kento protested, his voice carrying a note of caution.

A playful spark danced in your eyes as you retorted, your words dripping with a seductive undertone. "Who says this won’t be for work?"

With a tantalizing grace, you lowered your head and pressed your lips to his neck once more, trailing kisses along the warm, sensitive skin. Your tongue and teeth teased over the surface, each movement a deliberate exploration that sent a shiver of longing through him.

“Oh, c’mon. You know you want it. I can feel it—you sure as hell can. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?” you murmured into his ear.

You lightly bit his neck and he gasped, his heart skipping a beat, and his grip on your wrists faltered. You took the opportunity to slide your hands to his thighs again, caressing the inner and most sensitive parts. He made some noise of desire in the back of his throat, his breathing growing ragged.

A low, sultry chuckle accompanied your whispered words, the sound a velvet invitation that seemed to stir the air around you. 

"Don't be coy," you murmured into his ear, your voice a honey-like whisper that washed over him. "You want this as much as I do, Kento. I can feel it, and so can you. Why deny yourself the satisfaction?"

Your teeth grazed his neck lightly, a tantalizing nip that sent a shiver coursing through him. His grip on your wrists faltered, and you seized the opportunity, your hands slipping back to the sensitive terrain of his thighs. Your touch was delicate yet insistent, caressing the innermost and most sensitive parts. A guttural sound of desire escaped him, a primal expression of longing that mingled with his ragged breathing. The office walls seemed to close in around you, as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just you and Kento’s desire.

A low, tormented groan escaped him as his eyes fell shut, his internal struggle evident in the furrow of his brow. “This is so wrong.”

Your voice was a velvet caress as you posed your question, a tempting proposition that seemed to hang in the air like a forbidden fruit. "Is pleasure so wrong, Kento?" you purred, "Don't you deserve this?"

Desire ignited like a blazing fire, consuming every trace of resistance that had remained. As your dominant hand found its way to the growing bulge concealed by the fabric of his trousers, he couldn't help but release a breathy groan. His hips, almost imperceptibly, moved in response, a subconscious plea for more. Desire coursed white-hot through him, pooling between his thighs.

His hoarse mumble was a plea, a desperate attempt to reassert control in the face of mounting desire. "You should stop," he rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of longing and restraint.

Your laughter, low and seductive, rippled through the air, brushing against his ear and sending shivers cascading down his spine. 

"You don't want me to stop," you countered, your words a teasing assertion that seemed to strip away the last shreds of his resistance.

Kento's hands gripped the armrests of his chair with a desperate intensity, his knuckles whitening as he fought to maintain his grasp on composure in the face of overwhelming temptation.

Your words were a siren's call, a sultry enticement that seemed to draw him deeper into the vortex of desire. "C'mon now," you coaxed, your voice a velvet temptation, "You want me to touch you, to make a mess of you, to take care of you like no one else ever has."

With a confident touch, you rubbed the growing bulge between his thighs more firmly, causing his breath to hitch and a shuddering groan to escape his lips.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise that dripped with seductive allure. "Yes," you affirmed, your words a whispered caress, "Like no one else ever has."

Or will… You smirked.

As you unzipped the fly of his trousers and began to tug them down his strong thighs, Kento obediently lifted his hips to assist you in the tantalizing descent. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with desire.

The hard, throbbing length beneath the thin fabric of his boxers was damp along a certain path, evidence of his heightened arousal. Your finger pressed against the dampness, and Kento hissed sharply through his teeth. It was as if a current of electricity shot through every nerve in his body, pooling at the base of his spine, aching need pulsating within his throbbing cock.

With a tantalizingly deliberate movement, you pushed his boxers away, unveiling the long, aching length of his erection as it sprung free from its confinements. His breath caught in his throat at the sudden sensation of freedom and your touch.

One of your hands ventured down his body, seeking the source of his arousal, and you began to stroke him with a measured pace that balanced comfort and intensity. A deep, throaty moan escaped him, and he couldn't help but push his hips forward ever so slightly, a silent plea for more, tempered by the fear that you might pull away if he was too insistent.

His eyes remained shut, his body leaning into you as if seeking the reassuring pressure of your chest against his back. Every stroke of your hand sent waves of pleasure rippling through him, building an exquisite tension that threatened to tip him over the edge.

Your words dripped with wicked allure, a sultry taunt that sent shivers of desire racing through him. "You can't even deny how badly you need this," you cooed, a wicked smirk gracing your lips, your voice a seductive melody.

“Please…”

A guttural plea escaped him, his voice strained with longing as he groaned, his brow furrowing in desperation. Beads of perspiration formed on his skin, glistening in the office light.

Your touch was a maddening tease, the soft pad of your thumb tantalizingly swiping across the aching head of his cock. It was a taste of what you could do, a whisper of the pleasure you could elicit, the gentle pressure of your fingers a torment that electrified his sensitive length.

Kento's breathing grew more ragged, his body quivering with anticipation and desire. Every stroke of your thumb sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, a tantalizing promise of the ecstasy that lay just beyond reach.

His hips bucked urgently into your hand, a desperate quest for the all-consuming release that eluded him. A guttural moan erupted from his lips, echoing through the room, and you silenced it with your free hand, your fingers pressed against his lips. In his ear, you whispered teasing, shushing sounds, a sensuous torment that only served to stoke the flames of his desire.

The tension in the room was palpable, a relentless crescendo of longing that seemed to spiral upward with each passing moment. His body quivered with anticipation, his heart raced, and he could feel the precipice of his orgasm looming ever closer.

"You know," you breathed, "I've waited a long time for this moment."

As if to emphasize your words, you slowed the pace of your hand, your touch a slow, torturous caress that seemed to drive him to the brink. He groaned in response, his head hanging low, his hips stubbornly seeking the pleasure that danced just beyond his reach. The room seemed to hum with desire. 

In the throes of ecstasy, just as the climax threatened to wash over him, you removed your hand with cruel precision, a disdainful gesture as you wiped it casually on the shoulder of his expensive shirt. Kento all but cried out at the sudden loss of sensation, his whole body shuddering in response.

He groaned in frustration, his eyes filled with pleading confusion as he looked at you, the desperate desire still flickering in their depths. The room seemed to hang in a suspended moment, a tableau of torment and longing that left him on the brink of fulfillment, yet denied the release he so craved.

Your laughter, low and sardonic, filled the room, a taunting echo that seemed to reverberate in the air. With a saunter, you circled around his chair, moving to his desk and retrieving your phone, which had been propped up against a stack of folders. The video on the screen was ended, freezing the moment of his desperate longing.

"Quite the performance, Kento," you taunted, your words a playful mockery that laced with satisfaction. 

The boundaries of the office had been breached, and the power dynamics had shifted in a way that left no room for doubt—you openly held the upper hand.

With a bold flourish, you lifted your phone high, turning the volume up to ensure every nuance of the recorded encounter could be heard. You skipped through selected sections of the video, each moment meticulously chosen to capture the essence of the temptation and desire that had unfolded within the confines of the office.

As the video played, the room seemed to resonate with the sounds of his seduction, his pleas, his moans—each intimate detail laid bare for him to witness. There was no avoiding it; the evidence was undeniable, and it hung in the air. 

His chest rose and fell with the turmoil of emotions, and a betrayed expression contorted his typically composed features. The question escaped his lips like a lament, a whispered plea for understanding: “Why?”

Your posture exuded an air of casual indifference as you leaned against his desk, a playful tilt to your head that underscored your enjoyment of his discomfort. His question seemed to hang in the air, unanswered, as you chose to focus on the task at hand.

"So, Kento," you murmured, your tone a seductive tease, "What should I leak next: more of the company's closely guarded data, or this scorching little video?" 

A mixture of disbelief and regret tainted his muttered words. "How... H-How could you?"

Your laughter was a sharp retort, a mocking response to his question. "How could I? Oh, Kento, you're so fucking naїve."

His gulp was audible, his voice barely above a whisper as he ventured, "How much is it you want, exactly? What's your price?"

A sly grin curled upon your lips as you leaned closer, your words dripping with seductive allure. "I want everything you can give me."

a/n: he (effectively) lost his job by getting a handjob LOL. poor guy. jokes, idc, this was written out of spite. Happy Kinktober :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #꒰ ✑ ꒱ — they kiss consume #꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x reader smut #nanami kento smut #sub nanami kento x reader #sub nanami kento #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #sub character #sub!jjk #sub jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sub jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

[alkaline-wtr]

ELEVATOR

Ghost x gn!reader

Description: Ghost and reader are neighbors who get stuck together in an elevator. Genre/Warnings: Ghost x reader, gn!reader, fluff, angst, a little hurt comfort, possibly enemies to lovers, imagine WC: 987

My Masterlist

**AN Good morning! Here's a little fluff, I don't exactly know if the genres I tagged it as fit, but either way i thought this piece was cute. Enjoy.

Ghost steps onto the elevator watching it close slowly, the doors are almost shut when he hears a voice.

"Wait!"

He peered through the two metal plates you come walking quickly down the hall.

Ghost lets out an irritated sigh realizing it's you.

You and Ghost were neighbors. Living on the same floor of the apartment building. For some reason, despite your efforts over the last year Ghost just didn't seem to like you. In fact, he despised you.

Ghost wasn't exactly sure what it was about you that made him dislike you so much. Maybe it was your intrusive nature.

You put your hand in between the doors causing them to retract.

"Good morning, Simon. How are you?"

You asked in a sweet voice as you stepped onto the elevator beside him.

"Fine."

Ghost grumbled in response. You smile back at him but there is a sadness in your eyes.

Ghost presses the button for the first floor. He is obviously in no mood for small talk.

The elevator begins its descent. A low hum emits from the fluorescent lights overhead. Filling the uncomfortable silence between you.

You're watching as the numbers go down when suddenly the elevator comes to a halt rumbling beneath your feet.

The first thought that comes to Ghost's mind is confusion. His hand reaches across you and taps the button a couple times.

You watch with wide eyes as Ghost fiddles with the buttons.

"We're not stuck, are we?"

Ghost's glares at you,

"Obviously." He snapped.

Normally the comment would have hurt you but all you felt at this moment was the rising panic at the realization of the situation.

Ghost sighs pulling out his phone. He immediately notices the absence of the little white bars on the top of the screen.

"No reception."

He states, holding his cell up in the air in an attempt to find a connection.

The pounding of your heart is like a drumbeat in your chest. The warm wave of the fear and adrenaline washing over you makes you feel disconnected. You don't hear Ghosts frustrated grunts.

You'd always had anxiety, and this was one of your biggest fears.

Ghost lowers his Phone and looks down to you.

"What?"

Ghost asks annoyed. Pure terror is apparent on your face.

"I-I just- This... has always been a fear of mine."

You stuttered.

His expression softens. Ghost was well aware of anxiety and the effects it can have.

"It'll be okay."

His attempts at reassuring you don't seem to work as your breathing grows shallower.

Instead of the usual irritation Ghost felt being in your presence, he felt sympathetic towards you. Understanding first-hand how you were feeling in this moment.

"I suffer from anxiety too sometimes."

His voice is soft, and you can see something in his eyes you never had before, vulnerability.

The momentary silence between you two is loud. Your eyes are locked with his before you finally speak.

"Simon?"

The words are soft. He looked at you expectantly.

"Why do you hate me so much?"

The whispered question hangs in the air. Ghost breathes out a sigh averting his eyes.

"I don't..."

He stops himself from answering and thinks. Ghost hadn't really had a reason. He just wasn't fond of you. His negative feelings were unjustified. As he thought back to all the previous interactions, he realized you'd never been anything but nice to him.

With the pain and hurt of his difficult past, He'd found it hard for him to tolerate your positive and bubbly attitude. He was hurting deep inside, and you only brought that to light.

The truth was you hadn't done anything wrong, Ghost just couldn't separate his feelings of frustration from his opinion of you.

"I owe you an apology, y/n. I've allowed my own frustrations to interfere with my behavior towards you. It is unfair, and you never deserved to bear the brunt of it."

You looked at him shocked by his words. Ghost didn't seem the type to apologize.

"Will you please forgive me?"

He asked. Ghost knew you had every right to turn him away. After the way he had treated you for so long, he didn't deserve your forgiveness.

As always you proved to be kindhearted with your generous response.

"Of course. We all have our struggles. I appreciate you being honest with me."

You smiled at him. Your smile seemed so genuine and pure.

"I know this may mean nothing but if I'm honest with you, I've always liked you."

Your admission takes Ghost by surprise. The truth of the matter was that you had feelings for Ghost for a while. By hanging around and being friendly you hoped he could eventually warm up to you. Although, it had all seemed stupid now, you should have just communicated.

Ghost searched your face for any indication of what you were thinking. He had no idea how to respond. So, he did the only thing that came to mind at the moment.

A rough hand grabs your cheek forcing you to face him. Ghost hovers his lips over yours for a moment a silent way of asking for your permission.

When you didn't pull away Ghost took that as an okay to continue. His plush lips brush against yours.

You stiffen in hesitation, unsure of your actions. This had been a moment you'd only dreamt of and now that it was happening you didn't want anything to mess it up.

Finally, you lean in, kissing him back.  laughing nervously, when he pulls away.

"I almost forgot that we are stuck in an elevator."

You whisper. Ghost chuckles to himself and glances around

"Oh yeah. We aren't we."

He leans across you and presses the emergency call button. As you're waiting for Ghost to find a solution to the situation you can't help but smile to yourself feeling giddy and excited about what is to come.

#cod imagine #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #cod fluff #ghost x reader fluff #hurt/comfort #ghost angst #alkaline writes

[agustdiv1ne]

congratulations on your 2k milestone ashlee!! that’s amazing omg and I’m ready to read more of your works! for your 2k event I’d like to request smut with a bit of fluff here and there for choi beomgyu with #e1d6f9 <3 congrats again and I look forward for your future works!

SMILES!! thank you so much ♡♡ i hope you enjoy :)

wc: 629

warnings: 18+, fingering, beomgyu is a lil shit

asks are now closed

2k drabble masterlist | main masterlist

choi beomgyu is never one to back down from a challenge.

no matter what said challenge entertains, he will absolutely take it on, no questions asked. you remember when yeonjun dared him to lick the sidewalk for thirty seconds. beomgyu — never one to be upstaged by yeonjun — completed the task successfully. you, in turn, decided to not let him kiss you for four days straight.

you think that your boyfriend's penchant for such antics is the reason you currently find yourself in such a precarious position — your back pressed against his firm, warm chest, your legs spread open by his own. what began as some harmless teasing from you had morphed into something akin to a bet, posing the question if he could really make you cum with just his fingers — a query that arose from overhearing yeonjun brag about his many sexual escapades to the other boys.

beomgyu refuses to let your little comments slide.

your chest heaves, a ruined sob tumbling from your lips as his slick fingers ghost over your clit for the nth time this evening. his free hand reaches under your — his — shirt to tweak and twist your pebbled nipples. you're light-headed and trembling and it's too much, too much for your empty mind to handle. your entire body feels like it's engulfed in flames, another bead of sweat rolling down your temple.

"c'mon, baby, don't you wanna cum again?" he simpers, his teeth grazing your earlobe for a moment. your stomach somersaults at the low chuckle he emits, muscles tensing when he finally presses down on your once again.

"c-can't, gyu!" you manage to squeak out before another swipe to your swollen clit cuts off your train of thought. he breathes a laugh at your wrecked state as he pushes away your weak attempts at stopping his ministrations with little effort.

"how cute," he taunts. "you were so mouthy earlier, now look at you. wanna answer that question now, baby? you convinced i can make you cum with just my fingers now?"

his fingers dip down to gather more of your wetness before traveling back up to rub lazy circles. words die on your tongue, a shattered moan taking their place in the air of the bedroom. 

"answer me, baby. i know you can."

"y-yes!" you pant. "yes, just. just please let me cum, please please please-"

silently, beomgyu's fingers pick up their pace. you can almost feel the smirk curling at his lips. the coil in your stomach winds tighter, tighter, tighter, pants and whines and moans pried from your lips with every stroke of his fingertips. your hips buck up before they sink back down into the mattress, your mind conflicted from the delicious limbo between pain and pleasure. his free hand pushes down on your stomach to hold you in place.

"fuck, gyu, o-oh my god," you manage before your eyesight is painted a bright white, legs trembling as your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder. your lips part in a silent scream, eyes rolling back into your skull while he encourages your orgasm with slightly slower, lighter touches to your abused clit. 

you're not sure how long it takes for you come back down to earth, but by the time you do, you're sprawled across the bed, your boyfriend returning with a cool washcloth to wipe you down with. you let out a quiet hum of appreciation as he carefully runs the cool cloth over your heated skin. when he's finished, he finds himself on his side, watching as your eyes flutter and your breath evens. he reaches over to brush his thumb against your cheek. you subconsciously lean into his touch.

"good?" he asks, accepting the small, lethargic hum that you respond with. he chuckles.

"good."

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt imagines #txt drabbles #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu scenarios #txt scenarios #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu drabbles #beomgyu ff #txt fanfic #beomgyu hard hours #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #2k milestone celebration #agust.nsfw #💌 — gyu

[vera-deville]

Vera's Hauntober 2023

Day 15 - Raven (Lucifer)

10/16/2023 - 10/20/2023

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Word Count: 779

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Gender: GN

Taglist: @animusicnerd, @leonistic, @pyroxeene, @savanaclaw1996, @thequeenoffishburrito, @ellssbellss, @reshi-galaxy, @hanafubukki, @hitoshislover, @purplecandything, @it-happened-one-fic

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary..."

You look at the figure laying on your lap, staring at your eyes. In any other case, you'd find the act slightly unnerving, but for once, his garnet eyes were softened.

Reading glasses lay in the waves of his hair, and you gently plucked them from his crown, and placed them aside.

"Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--"

He hummed, the sound so quiet and low that the only clue of its existence was the gentle rumble that his body emitted from on top of you. You stop reading for a moment. A second passes. So does another. No mellow-toned words. Then you continue.

"Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;" you raise your voice accordingly to the words you read, "And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor." The poem continued steadily, and he closed his eyes as it progressed, still, but awake.

"But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping." You smile at this line, and he hears it in the way you recite the lines as though you had done so many times. In truth, you most probably had, if your detailed and amorous description of the poem was anything to go off of. "And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door."

There was a certain rhythmn to your voice. It bobbed at the end of each line - a pattern. At the moment, he couldn't tell where the story would go. The imagery created by the words, so descriptive as they were, painted a dreary scene. There hadn't necessarily been anything to point to a tragedy, yet it felt melancholic.

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before..."

Now that sounded familiar. It reminded him of the times of the past. The memories from ages long forgotten. He had never been able to quite put them into words before. However, it was at this moment that he realized, if he were to have in fact worded his misery, they would sound a little something like this.

"And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!""--

Another character? Perhaps the raven from which the title was (assumably) derived from finally makes an appearance? And from there, it was nothing but misery in that story.

"Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."" You sneak more and more glances at his face. That was the first nevermore. From this point onwards, there would be nothing for the narrator but grief, longing, and sadness. Your lover, though eyes still closed, had his brows scrunched, and if you didn't know any better (which you did know better), you'd think he was fully immersed in the story (which he was).

You read through the Raven's grim words. You read through the narrator's sorrow. You read through the disheartening story, all the way to the very end.

"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, Shall be lifted--nevermore!"

Your reading comes to an end. A second passes. So does another. But this time, a mellow-toned voice inquires, "Is that the end?"

You smile at his question. "Mm, it is." Setting the poem aside, not far from his glasses, you lean towards your lover. "What do you think?"

Your breath tickles his face. "It was a rather depressing story." He finally bears his sanguine eyes at you once more. "Truth be told, I expected witchcraft. Or something to do with Mammon. Not a lover's passing."

A giggle, obnoxious in nature, escapes your throat. He raises an eyebrow at this. "Aren't you glad I didn't tell you anything about the story until I started reading?"

"Honestly speaking, I would have still preferred at the very least, some sort of understanding of the nature of the story," He lightly glares at you, "But knowing you, there is some manner of enjoyment to be gained from this."

"You'd be very right about that dear~"

"I believe you understand that coming from a demon, this holds significance, but you're downright evil-"

He didn't even need to look at you to know you wear a smug grin on your face with every ounce of pride you could muster. No, he could feel it. He would never understand just why you enjoyed such dark stories, much less how you could bring yourself to laugh at the endings of said stories, but he didn't care. It wasn't meant for him to understand. Simply to experience.

Author's Note: I am falling behind with this event, so basically, I'm speedrunning my writing fics right now-

Rest assured, things will be back onto track soon enough (hopefully sooner rather than later).

See you in the next fic!

Masterlist Hauntober 2023 Masterlist

#hauntober #vera's hauntober 2023 #obey me shall we date #obey me #shall we date #obey me swd #omswd #obeymeluci #lucifer #obey me lucifer #obey me luci #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #raven #the raven edgar allan poe #the raven #poetry #reading #fluff #romance #dark #dreary #couple #romantic #lovers #reader #y/n #you #vera deville #the marchioness

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Ghost of the Sea

-Part 4-

Well that was quick 😂 I felt I wasn't feeling productive today, so I just wrote the chapter to cope. But also, I just couldn't wait lol. This one's really fun to write.😁

Again, you can always find the chapter on Ao3!

@teapotteringabout @mothmannerly @dreamycloud @uniwolfcorn @myladykayo @janetm74 @the-original-sineater @skymaiden32

-0-0-0-

"Tower from Stingray! Tower from Stingray! Coming Tower!" called Captain Troy Tempest, as he and his partner navigate the mighty strike vessel through some steep rocks.

"This is Tower to Stingray," Commander Shore replied from the comms, "How was it, Troy?"

"Well, its has been nearly half an hour into the investigation. Still no sigh of that 'Ghost Creature'," reported the Captain.

"It should be not far. We still getting reports of a 'giant shadow' or a 'ghostly blue light' in your area, " explained the Commander with a slight bit of optimism.

"Right Commander. We'll report you again if we find anything suspicious," Troy said.

After a brief good luck from Commander Shore, the young Captain ordered Phones turned on the hydrophones. Short, faint echos came back. No big object detected in front of Stingray.

The WASP ship kept her nose close to the sand bank, almost like the actual animal sniffing for any trace of food. At least, to the curious eyes of a distant big shadow that was moving cautiously along with the strike vessel...

"Hey!" cried Phones as he reached for his headphones.

"What is it Phones?" Troy raised a curious brow at his partner.

The Hydrophones operator listened carefully, his face squinting as if he was making sure what he was hearing wasn't from his mind. Then, he gave the Captain an uneasy look, "I'm hearing a low humming noise in the background..." he reported.

Then he shivered, his eyes grew wide with a scared face, "W-Was that... The Ghost...?"

"There's no such thing as ghosts!" Troy retorted sternly, "Are you sure its not some white noise the Hydrophones were making?"

"We checked and double checked them last night and they were okay!" reminded Phones, "And remember, these things are pretty sensitive, they could pick up a very low or high frequency sound that we don't hear sometimes..."

The Captain quickly turned to the window and his eyes narrowed in suspicion as they darted across ocean left and right. Immediately, he saw something in the distance... Or was it something? He thought he saw a big shadow...

"We should keep our eyes peeled..." muttered Troy in a low tone.

The unease grew as time goes on. The low humming noise still present, but louder. Echos still faint. Soon the crew started to think they were seeing things in the murky waters of the twilight. Movements in the sand. Big shadows in the dark waters. And sometimes... They were glimpses of lights in between walls of rocks.

It was like... Stingray was being followed...

At one point, the crew picked up strong echos in front of them. A moving object finally! And this time, the humming grew louder...

They decided to chased after it. Swift as a strong current, they navigated Stingray to the place they picked up the signal. Pouncing on it!

But, the incredible speed of their strike vessel cannot account the terrifying disappearance of the said object. Leaving them alone. In the near darkness. Yet the uneasy feeling never left.

In fact, the Stingray crew felt like they were being watched...

"I think we should surface. Boy, that tension was too much..." Captain Troy ordered with tensed breath, when he noticed an really nervous Marina had moved to the pilots, holding tightly to a similarly nervous Phones, who was just gripping his steering wheel a little too hard.

Troy had never experienced such fear! Not even that tense moment during the mission with Loch Ness Monster could top the feeling he felt at this moment.

Could that 'Ghost Creature' emit such a strong presence? He thought.

Stingray began to surface, slowly. Each minute, the pressure was lifted. Light of dawn could be seen through the mirrored surface, before being breached.

A fresh of air filled the moment Troy, Phones and Marina got out through the hatch of the submarine's nose. Relief ease their bodies. But the thought of the mission still remained. With binoculars at hand, the pilots watched the surface of the ocean for any sigh of the monster.

"Boy! Wish we could take a small dip into the ocean. Just to get the pressure off.." Phones pondered.

Troy looked down at water from the rim of the craft. Then smiled with a squinted eye when he spotted some familiar blue sails floating in the waves.

"Uuhh... Guess we won't be swimming today," the Captain sighed.

Phones followed his best friend's gaze and squinted at the sight of blue bottles jellyfish littering the ocean under the dawning sun.

"What a terrifying beauty..." he said sarcastically.

Marina huffed in amusement at Phones' statement. Just as she turned around back at the sea, her face dropped as her eyes widened. There was a blue light in water near the horizon. Shining almost like an eye in the dark. It was completely imobile, almost unaffected by the movements of the waves.

The lady of the sea began tapping on the Hydrophones operator's shoulder, almost frantically, to get his attention.

"What is it, Marina?" asked Phones. Marina pointed at the direction of the light, which he sees it and called for his Captain, "Troy! Marina found a shiny one!"

Troy immediately walked next to his partner and friend, gazing at the same direction as his crew mates. He squinted his eyes at it, then after a moment he frowned.

"Wait a minute... That's not a shiny blue bottle..." Troy muttered. Everyone then looked at each other with wide eyes.

Moments later, they were back inside Stingray. With orders thrown to accelerate and turn sharp to port, the strike vessel cut to the chase! Her retractable hydrofoils gliding her through the jelly fish infested waters!

As if noticing the tiny submarine coming towards it, the light began to move forward... But it seemed it didn't accelerate. Like it didn't need to. Because as soon as Stingray pounced on it, a loud scraping sound of metal could be heard! Making the crew's hearts dropped in horror.

Stingray hit the something sharp on the side of the glowing object. Taking out her hydrofoils and scraped her underside. Then... The WASP ship began to sink. As Troy, Phones and Marina scrambled to quickly secure the ship to prevent flooding into the cabin, Stingray sunk into the depths.

Down and down she goes to the sand bank. While the huge shadow of the 'Ghost Creature' loomed over her...

#Stingray #stingray 1964 #stingray tv show #my fanfics #Thunderfam #stingray fanfiction #ga fanfiction #Ghost of the Sea

[shaisuki]

MY HUSBAND'S BEST FRIEND

GETO SUGURU X CHUBBY READER

content warnings ─── established relationship, geto and reader have kids (mimiko and nanako), best friend gojo, fingering,noncon, forced orgasm, dead dove do not eat, talks about cheating, coaxing someone to cheat, gojo's an asshole, alcohol consumption, reader is pregnant, angst, no curses au.

─── next chapter. last chapter.

ᝰ synopsis .ᐟ a happy life with your husband suguru and with your twins, what could you wished for, not until your husband's best friend took the form of the green-eyed monster.

the day begin like the previous days. spent in the kitchen where you first do your wife duties and as a parent to your twin girls. the water boiling in the kettle. the rice simmering in the clay pot. the sound of chopping in the wood board, the greens to be used in a balanced meal for your kids and to your husband. it was the mundane life you have chosen, that you and your husband had built for the last years of your lives.

it happened in the blink of an eye. everything happened liked it's just yesterday. meeting suguru through mutual friends and then baam! like an explosion. you're in a home you two built and with twins. some days you would pinch yourself and convince everything's a dream but the cold wedding band nestled in your ring fingers tells you otherwise. you were happy, in this home with suguru. your dear husband.

"a penny for your thoughts?" a large arm wrapping around your belly and a kiss in your cheeks. you hold his arm, leaning in his chest and looking up at him. "just us, suguru." the man behind you hums.

"what about us?" his hands creeping up under your shirt. his nimble fingers untying your apron from your behind. "my wife smiling without me is quite alarming." he mused while his lips grazes the shell of your ear. you let out a breathy laugh.

"can i just be smiling from the thought of you and the twins and how lucky i am to be with you." biting back a moan when his cold hand wanders to your belly. squeezing the flesh that spills in his large hand.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

"allow me to show you what i think of you." his hands lowering until it's into your thigh. tapping the skin before his hands making it's way to your mound.

"sugu, the twins will be waking up soon." your knees giving up on you but his strong arms is always there to catch you. "i checked on them and they're off to dreamland. they won't get up for a another hour, so let's have our time." turning off the stove and you submit yourself into him with his fingers ghosting in your puffy folds before plunging into your weepy cunt. a gasp emits from your mouth, leaving your legs trembling. trapping his hand between your plush thighs but nonetheless suguru continued exploring your insides with his fingers. his digits scissoring your soft, spongy walls and curls occasionally leaving you panting for more. grabbing his sleeves to stabilize yourself.

"doing good for me, sweetheart." he whispers, pumping his fingers inside you faster, filling you so deliciously that it leaves you trembling and gasping.

just a little more and you'll be reaching your peak. your insides tightening around his fingers and he knows it all. rubbing the soft, spongy part of your insides. the tingling pleasure spreading throughout your body and upon release, it numbs you for a moment before euphoria explodes in your brain. releasing the endorphins that leaves you satisfied.

when you calmed yourself from the mind numbing orgasm your husband had bestowed upon you, you were lifted up. gently placing you in the cold, marbled top counter of your kitchen.

"guess we have take care of that?" you innocently tease at him, eyeing the bulge straining in his sweatpants. dangerously low that you could see his happy trail peeking through the garment. suguru chuckles and removes his sweatshirt, tossing it into the chair, showing you his defined muscle. lowering his sweatpants, his cock springing free from the confines of it, slapping against in his hard abdomen.

spreading your legs, he immediately slotted himself in between. holding your cheeks in his hands and giving you a tender kiss in your lips. your fingers tangling in his long, black hair as you pulled him closer to deepen the kiss in which he took advantage off. tapping his cock in between your folds. gathering the slick to coat his cock before entering inside you. earning a moan you from the delicious stretch from his long, hard, cock. hitting the spots deep inside you that leaves you whining and moaning for him.

you two stayed like that for awhile until both of you reached your highs. his cum coating your insides before kissing your forehead tenderly. "that's a good morning." he says and you giggle. "good morning, suguru." you say and he kisses you in return. fixing himself up and continuing the left out chores you had to do. "i'll wake the girls." you muttered, taking a shower first before going to your girls bedroom.

it wasn't hard to rouse the girls from their sleep. clinging to you like koalas when you promised they can still sleep a little bit into you. kissing their foreheads and carrying them both downstairs. they're getting heavy and growing so fast. carrying them is going to be a hassle in the next years if they still want to but nonetheless you enjoyed being a mother to both of your twins with your husband. "morning, mama." they both say, sleepily. holding you tighter in their arms.

mimiko and nanako, your twins with suguru and you couldn't be more happier when you're blessed with two little beautiful girls that you call your own. both three and already showing their unique personalities in their own.

seeing you carrying the twins, suguru approached you, kissing the twins in their head with a sleepy good morning, papa before kissing you. taking mimiko in you before settling them both in their respective chairs.

breakfast laid out with the tea and coffee steaming in the cups, the clack of chopstick and the twins happily eating in the table with food in their hands. looking at suguru who have the content expression same as you have. you both began to eat. mornings like this with the twins and your husband. you couldn't be more happier.

"satoru, no more vacations for you?" geto smirks at his best friend who always travel and on the go with his adventures. twenty four/seven on the road but wouldn't missed the family dinner where he can be with his best friend since high school.

settling in the couch in the living room where multiple family pictures decorated the shelves and on the walls. you and geto in your first date at the museum, followed by a wedding picture and a sonogram tucked in the frame. twins.

dark eyes gloomily stares at the pictures and the glasses in the frame reflects on his eyes. before he could drown in thoughts. a ring in the doorbell resonated in the house. he could hear his other friends and with that gojo puts up his infamous happy-go-lucky smile.

the dinner went smoothly, a few jabs in between, reminiscing the days in high school and what's with everybody doing.

"man, this is good." stuffing himself with the freshly baked goods. happily munching on the sweets that is presented in front of him.

geto chuckles at his antics, "how's life going for you, suguru?" gojo asks to his best friend. "good, the girls are growing up fast." he says, holding your hands in the table and giving you a smile which you returned.

gojo raised a brow at you. there's a hint of smugness and a frown while he looks at you, making you slightly shift in your seat. not liking how he look at you.

it's been years since suguru had introduced you to his friend. his partner in crime since high school but you can't still shake the queasiness you felt when gojo's around. maybe it's the way he stares or just him, yet you still like nothing. squeezing suguru's hand for comfort and he would squeeze back. everything's fine, his hold tells you and you believe in it.

after a few sips of wine and a quick goodbye. you two stood in the kitchen. placing back the pots and pans to their designated place. absentmindedly wiping the plates with a deep thought in your mind. suguru notices it.

holding your jaw with his hand you met his purple eyes. striking yet it held gentleness in those gaze. "look at me, is something bothering you?" he asks and you shake your head. fighting the urge if you should tell him or not but you trust him and you know suguru would never judge you.

"i don't know but maybe it's just me. i don't want to talk about gojo, suguru. but...." suguru stays silent, waiting for the next words you will be speaking about his friend.

"does he hate me or something? he seems relaxed with others but to me..." shrugging you can't help but to worry more like you had offended his friend.

holding your cheeks in his palms, you relish in the warmth in his hands instantly making your worries melt but still dread doesn't leave you.

"i know satoru, he can be quite unpredictable but we've been best buddies for years and he can be seen as a entitled brat to everyone. judging would fit but that's the way he is. don't worry about him, okay?" pressing a sweet kiss in your lips and you nod. returning the kiss with such want, suguru held you in his arms. "don't worry about him." kissing your knuckles and with that, you lost yourself in his kisses.

and yet, you still find yourself in his stares. every time you look in the sea of the crowd he's sight is in yours. even the women flocking in his side while he takes a sip of champagne.

suguru takes your worries away temporarily, holding your hips. making sure you felt safe in his hold which he never fails at doing so. "i'm here." he whispers which made you giggle and suguru takes that laugh of yours. pressing a kiss in the middle of the crowd. looking at gojo, who smiles at him. raising his tinted glasses to show his blue eyes. acknowledging his bestfriend before darting his sight to you briefly.

gojo understands at some point he and suguru would go in their own separate ways. he had his way and suguru have his. you and the twins his best friend dearly loves but he can't help the feeling that gnaws inside him.

for a man like him, he holds the world in his hands, one would say the universe but he can't still fill the hole in his heart. wanting and needing for something, for someone. seeing his friend so happy, so contented, he pales in comparison. his life served in a silver platter.

maybe, he can drown himself in sorrow with women tonight. chuckling what's the difference? he always had it.

humming to yourself, you watched your reflection in the mirror. dressed in your night clothes. closing the bathroom and going to your girls bedroom, kissing them goodnight. you and suguru would do this but he needs to run some errands for his work today but you understand. you will just wait on him and maybe indulge with some good book.

a knock in the door could he heard, brushing your clothes off. you went to open the door. not expecting someone at this hour with the exception of your husband.

"sugu—" the words died down in your throat when you see gojo at your doorstep. clothes disheveled and he reeks of some expensive alcohol he consumed. you heard stories from suguru that gojo's a lightweight when it comes to drinking. raising a hand to wave at you, "ohhh, (y/n)-chan." a drunken greeting you first heard and the way you he calls you. before stumbling forward when you catched him. assisting him in placing him in the couch.

"satoru, you're drunk. stay here please." he only waves his hand, signalling he's fine and leans down his head to the back of the couch. you went to your kitchen grabbing a mug to brew your husband's friend some coffee for him to sober up.

you didn't notice him standing up and following you. draping his long arms around you when you grabbed the mug in one of the cupboards. his breath tickling your nape, raising goosebumps all over your body.

upon the contact, you pushed him away. dropping the mug in an instant. watching it slowly breaks into tiny pieces. your mind in frenzied, body alarmed. you don't want the twins to wake up, not with gojo in your house.

"come on, (y/n). is this how to treat your husband's buddy?" he coos at you but you took a step backwards. he steps forward, stepping on the shards of the mug beneath his shoes.

"suguru will be home soon, you should go now."

"not for an another hour." he says, groaning and removing his glasses. his blue eyes shimmering and he's staring at you like you were a prey ready to be devoured.

your back hit the wall and you were cornered. holding your shoulders in his tight grip with adrenaline running in your veins. your hand came into contact to his cheek. "don't you touch me." you warned and that seems to sober him up.

"you know, suguru and i were unstoppable. we're wild, young and free.." he began to say, rubbing the spot where you slapped him, chuckling. holding his glasses in his finger.

"then you came, barging into suguru's life. i thought it wouldn't last. sugu's not one for commitments, you know. you were just going to be his plaything and then he fell for you and then he's married to you and heck, you even gave him twins." he said, as if mocking you. that you were the one who ruined suguru's life but it's the opposite he's jealous what suguru have. you and a loving family he can call his own.

"i'm happy for him. truly. suguru's a lucky one, ain't he?" speaking the facts and he can't bite the jealousy bubbling in his chest.

you remained frozen, acting brave in front of him. looking at your phone resting in your counter. continuing his rants. you let him babble out his jealousy and you went to grab your phone but you were stopped by him.

"i'm not finished, (y/n)."

"i said don't touch me!" pulling your hand away from him but he seems to grip it harder.

"i'm not jealous of suguru but seeing you two happy makes me want to destroy it." he confesses.

"satoru! please, the twins are sleeping upstairs!" panicking at what he's about to do. not concerning about your safety but your girls whose sleeping soundly. you don't want harm coming to them.

gojo scowls at that but seeing you on the verge of tears made his pants tighten. he went to touch your soft belly. "suguru's blessed. a wife to come home to, a warm bed with you beside him, children who loves him and you." holding your round cheek in his palm. recoiling away from his touch and you avoid his gaze. taking a breathe. hoping or somehow he will stop his delusions.

with all your strength, you shoved him. in his sober state, his grip on you loosened. making a beeline upstairs to escape him but even in his state, gojo manage to catch up to you. holding the back of your nightie which tears from the force of you running and his incredible strength, making you trip on the floor, in which latter took advantage of.

grabbing your shoulders to roll you in your back and straddles himself with your body. his shin on your thighs and holding your arms in the most bruising way.

you began thrashing around him. squirming. it proves to be useless against his strength. they're best friends and they way gojo holds you with his strength reminds you of your husband.

"me and suguru used to share a lot in things. what's the difference when i'm having a taste of what's his?" he taunts you, leaning forward to kiss you which ends up kissing your cheek when you turned your face to the side.

"i said, stop it! i'm with child!" you screamed and that stops him. his eyes widening and his grip loosens. you couldn't stop the tears falling from your eyes. your breath getting shallow in which gojo removes himself from you.

sitting down besides you, with gojo gone in top of you. you brought your hand to your mouth. muffling the sound of your cries, holding your stomach while you turn your body to the side.

gojo sat there motionless, twirling his bangs in his fingers. stares at your trembling form. hearing your sobs from what he have done. your back exposed from the teared up nightie. the strap falling into your shoulder and your thighs exposed from the nightie riding up. fuck, you're so pretty, he can't himself but to be drawn to you.

he finally understands why suguru couldn't bring himself to cheat on you. no matter how he sweet talks him in taking a break from you. indulge himself with something new and bring back the thrill they once used to but suguru only tells him no, only lighting a cigarette. a habit he only does when you're not around and the kids.

"i convince suguru to cheat on you, everytime we hang out. introduce him to women." he talks to you. telling of you one of the many attempts he made to suguru just to betray you. "and i understand where he's coming from with his reasonings. seeing you made me realize things. suguru have you. you provided him a home, you gave him children, you made him happy..." you didn't listen at him. you were so sick to your stomach that suguru's best friend would do this to you out of jealousy.

"and here you are, carrying his child once again." he finishes his sentence. the damage been done and gojo doesn't care if you're pregnant or not. he will have a taste of what's been his best friend have been indulging.

he will lost suguru after this but at least he tasted you.

you think you're done with the hell gojo places you but his cold hands grabs you. forcing you to spread your legs wide and slots himself between you. your pleas fell into deaf ears. his hands holding your arms once again.

his thick, length sliding inside of you. no mercy and for him, the wetness your fat pussy is a sign that you're ready to take him and with that he mercilessly sinks into you. groaning at the warmth of your walls enveloping him. watches as your eyes spills more tears from him. biting your lips until you can feel in your tongue the metallic taste of your blood.

you couldn't hide the shame. the moans spilling into your mouth while being impaled by your husband's best friend's cock. his fingers digging into the plushness of your waist. entertains himself from the way your stomach jiggles from the pounding.

you never hated blue more than ever. hearing him speak about how he tried suguru to betray and you were glad suguru didn't listen to him but as a wife, being defiled by gojo. you feel ashamed of how your body responds from gojo's treatment to you.

you were betraying your husband. you vowed in the day since you married suguru, that only him is deserving of you. making yourself the wife he deserves too. your lips, only he can kiss it. your body, only him for to touch, to worship. your thoughts will only be filled by him and your womb is to only carry his children.

you hate yourself when you reach the pleasure coming from him and not from your husband. who treated, made you feel so loved and cherished. not be treated some whore by his loathsome friend who speaks for his dick.

your tears blurring your vision as you look upsidedown in the stairs. hoping and wishing your children wasn't awaken from the filth your husband calls a friend. your tears got heavy when you feel him spill his cum inside you. defiling your insides with suguru's child growing inside you.

how could you face suguru with this. your husband who has done nothing but to love you wholeheartedly.

gojo pulls himself out, watching his cum escape your hole. satisfied and no guilt of what he had done to you but a gut-twisting feeling inside him eats him.

you went to sit, pressing yourself to the wall. the tears drops like rain in your floor. in your home with suguru. you watch him grabbed your nightie. fixing you up but you didn't feel anything but disgust and hatred for him.

"get out!" you shout at him in a volume only him he can hear. he went to touch you but you slap his hands away from you. in your wobbly legs, you stand with all your strength. throwing a fist at him. you don't care if you trip again. he lets you punch him but it's feels like nothing to him.

your legs gave up, making you kneel. he left you in that state. the guilt finally settling down on him. he ruined you.

closing the door behind him, he can hear the sobs, with that he left.

kneeling, your body leans forward. holding your arms. scratching and holding them in a tight grip. crying your heart out from what he had done to you. what feels like minutes, feels like an eternity.

you went to shower. let the warm water runs all over your body. wishing that it will wash away the dirt he wiped to you. watching rivulets of water drain in the sink. rub your skin until it's raw. after that, you change into your hoodie. one that you only wear when suguru's away from you.

you went to your girls room, watching them sleep. you need to be strong for them but still you can't stop the tears falling from your eyes, watching them sleep innocently. clutching your belly, you apologized to your unborn child. i'm sorry. you repeated it many times.

you don't have the strength to face your husband tonight. sleeping in your twin's bed will be much a better option. you settled beside nanako. the bed dips and that seems to awake her and she noticed you awaking mimiko in the process. her voice sleepy when she speaks to you. noticing the sniffles coming from you.

"are you crying, mama?" she whispers, her eyes heavy from sleep.

"no." you lied.

"that's okay, mama. mimiko and i are here for you." nanako comforts you and you bursted in tears. hugging them both closer to you and they settled in you. their tiny hands holding your hoodie. kissing their hair, you have them. tired and dried up from the tears. your eyelids feel heavy but it doesn't let you forget the blues in his eyes. the last tear rolls in your cheek.

with the last minutes remaining, you only wished for one thing, what gojo had done to you, your husband's best friend is only a nightmare.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝ #chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #tw cheating #tw noncon #geto suguru x reader #plus size reader #jjk angst #gojo satoru x chubby reader #gojo satoru x reader

[wingsmould]

people are like 'oh the knight doesnt have emotions' as if this screenshot doesnt just radiate malice

#beep boop #hollow knight #knight posting #as if her name doesnt change to millibelle the theif. as if they dont beat her up for everything shes worth #i like to think ghost like. emits a low humming #imagine this kid just staring at you. wanting their money back. saying nothing. emitting white noise. #on an unrelated note i think people should play up the. unspoken wrongness of the vessels. like they look normal enough but theres things #that are just off the more you look. i am rambling. its ok its my own post

[solemnly-mischievous]

Wow your writing is so realistic and detailed I love it!! I was wondering if you’d be open to writing draco smut where you tie his wrists and make him watch you touch yourself but then he breaks free and 🤫🤔🤔

this request? chef’s kiss. hope you like it. once again this was just straight up filth (also thanks anon!)

Contains: Bondage, degradation, mentions of spanking, orgasm denial, brief mild breath-play, dirty talk, rough sex, manhandling

Word count: 1.8K

-----

It's so easy, you're actually kind of shocked.

As you stare down Draco, whose eyes are narrowed and confused and slightly fucking pissed, whose wrists are tied behind his back to the headboard of the bed... you can't help but giggle.

His hair is still ruffled from the nap he'd been taking when you snuck into his room, golden tufts sticking out in various angles, and he looks adorable. Aside from the part where he's beginning to very nearly steam in anger, of course.

"Oh, so this is funny?" Draco glares at you. "You think it's funny, don't you?"

"Erm." You cough out another small snicker. "Yeah, maybe?"

"Merlin, you're going to regret this. Ha-ha, funny prank, nice one, good to see the Weasleys are leaving their influence." Draco rattles his hands behind his back like he's Marley's ghost. "Now let me go."

You shake your head. "I don't think so."

Draco rolls his eyes, sighing. When he looks back at you, his gaze is steely and pissed off. "You're making a mistake, pet."

"Am I?" You smile innocently at him. You're sitting at the foot of the bed, only a couple feet away from his sitting figure, and you make a point to scooch backwards to press your back against the feet of the bed. "Am I, Draco?"

"What are you..." He trails off as you shrug off your jacket, unbuttoning your shirt slowly. You bite your lip as you feel his gaze on you, following your every move.

Draco says your name warningly. He's unused to being disobeyed, to not having things to according to his wishes. He's still the Malfoy heir, after all—spoiled at heart. "Be good."

You ignore him, a move that you know makes him see red. Your unbuttoned shirt hangs loosely on your shoulders, and you trail your fingers behind you to unhook the straps of your bra. It falls away, leaving your breasts bare but your shirt still on—a look that you personally thought was pretty damn hot.

From the look of Draco's heated dark gaze, he thought the same.

He tenses as you move a hand up to your nipples, caressing them gently and tweaking them ever so often. They harden fast, becoming sensitive, and you let out small breathy sounds of pleasure as you play with them, eyes fluttering closed.

"Salazar," you hear Draco growl, and you open your eyes only to wink at him. You see him tug at his restraints, his muscles straining, but they hold fast.

"No touching," you say playfully, repeating back the words he so often ordered you to obey during your scenes and during sex. You feel drunk on it, the control. You love being submissive, of course, and Draco is a fantastic dominant, but it's... fun, to flip the table on him.

(Of course, that doesn't mean you want to be in control the whole night. Maybe you'll untie him after you've gotten off, then let him fuck your throat. That's the plan, anyway.)

You figure he'll be rough after you let him go and you want it. You imagine Draco grabbing your wrists and pinning them against the bed as he fucks you, face-down, over the side of the bed—imagine him whispering a mix of praise and degradation in your ear, laughing when you moan.

Slipping a hand into your pants, you lock eyes with Draco once more as you touch yourself through your soaked panties. His gaze is glittering, dangerous. "Stop."

"No." You get a thrill out of saying the word, out of going against direct orders. You know if he really wanted you to stop, he would use the safeword the two of you established. Right now, he's furious alright, but he's also planning something. You're sure of it.

You shimmy out of your pants, leaving you in a flimsy shirt and lacy dark green panties that you may have chosen just for the occasion. Draco's eyes narrow at the sight of them, and he makes to reach for you before he remembers he's tied up.

"If you let me go right now, I'll go easy on you," Draco says lowly. "I won't make it hurt too much."

"Tempting," you murmur, slipping your hand into your panties and directly sinking a finger into your cunt, "but I'll take a rain check."

Draco says your name loudly, but your eyes are already slipping closed from the pleasure, letting out a perhaps slightly theatrical whimper from the stimulation.

"Fucking whore," you hear him hiss, and it makes you jerk your hips up into your touch. You're a slut for his praise, and he knows that bloody well. "Yeah, you're enjoying that? You like your fingers touching your pathetic cunt even though I said no?"

"Draco," you whine, a finger circling your clit. Your movements quicken, and you start fucking yourself in earnest, far past slow teasing motions for Draco's benefit—right now, you want to come. Your eyes are still squeezed closed as you pump your fingers, chasing release.

"Little disobedient slut," comes Draco's voice, and there's something in his tone that makes you shudder. Your eyes flutter, and something registers in your mind. "You're absolutely going to regret this."

He sounds way closer than he should be.

Before you can open your eyes, a cold hand grabs the wrist of the hand that's currently shoved down your panties, and you yelp in surprise. Your hand is forcefully removed, and Draco tugs you in by the shirt, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing you up against him.

"Bloody—"

"Now, now, pet," Draco murmurs into your ear. You can hear his smirk. "Best not get in more trouble than you're already in, hm?"

"How did you—"

"Magic," he replies with a condescending tone, and you could slap yourself. How did you forget that very important aspect to consider when tying one up?

"Fuck," you whisper to yourself, and Draco laughs meanly.

"I suppose so," he muses, "but don't plan on getting to come today. Or this week, for that matter. Merlin, I should just spank your pretty little ass all red and fuck your throat. Little slut doesn't deserve anything more."

You whine and he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp in pain. "Unless you're apologizing profusely or using your safeword, I don't want to hear another bloody sound out of you. Or you'll fucking regret it."

"I'm sorry," you gasp, and Draco hums.

"As I was saying, maybe I should spank you," he says casually. Your breath hitches at the idea—Draco's never actually spanked you before aside from a few wayward spanks during sex, but you can't deny the idea of it turns you on so fucking much.

You imagine him throwing you over his knee, peeling your panties off and spanking you until your ass turned bright red and you were begging for his forgiveness. You imagine him rubbing your irritated skin in an almost comforting manner before landing another slap squarely where it aches and you whimper.

"Aw, but I think she likes that idea," Draco coos mockingly, and he flicks one of your nipples harshly, making you gasp. You can feel how hard he is against you. His hand trails up to your neck, his fingers circling your throat slowly. He doesn't press down, not yet. "Don't you?"

You shake your head vehemently, embarrassed, but Draco's fingers tighten slightly—enough that you feel the pressure when you inhale.

"Don't you?"

You almost reply. Almost.

But then you remember his words.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and you can feel his smile.

"Where was all this obedience earlier, hm?" His hands moves from your throat to your hair, stroking it gently. "We could've avoided all this. You could've just easily gotten fucked, and gotten to come. Now look at this. Now I have to teach you a lesson."

Draco sighs, like it's a bloody inconvenience. "What do you say?"

"I'm sorry," you repeat.

"Good girl," Draco praises. He tugs at your hair. "Anyway, I don't think I'll spank you today. You seem to like that idea too much, and this is supposed to be a punishment, after all."

You stay quiet, mind whirling, trying to anticipate what he might come up with. Eventually, he seems to come to a decision.

"Alright, on the bed," Draco orders you, and you scramble to obey. You get to see his face for the first time since he broke free, and it's a sight—his pupils are dilated and his normally pale face flushed with anticipation and arousal, gaze dark and wanting.

He reaches over and tugs your panties off entirely. Then, with a coy smile, he leans over and gags you with the wet fabric, clicking his tongue in faux-sympathy as your eyes widen. “There, there. It’s to make sure you don’t make noise. You should be thanking me, really.”

Then, in one smooth movement, Draco pushes your legs apart roughly and lands a light slap on your wet clit. It’s not a hard hit, but the surprise of it makes you buck your hips up, a low shriek emitting from your mouth through the makeshift gag.

“Blink twice for red, understand?” he says, and you nod earnestly. Draco smirks and spanks your cunt again, slightly harder this time, and you whine.

“Shh.” One more slap, and you’re drawing your legs together, your cunt stinging from the hits—but you’ve also never been so fucking wet.

“I agree,” Draco says cheerfully, unbuckling his belt and drawing his cock out of his trousers. “I think it’s time I get something out of this.”

And before you can make another sound, he pushes into you quickly, groaning to himself from how fucking tight you are. Your breaths come shallow and quick, the stimulation and stretch overwhelming.

Draco gives you a few seconds to get used to the stretch, and then he’s fucking you roughly, using you like you’re nothing but a hole for him to get off with, quick thrusts punctuating his words as he bites out, “Stupid little slut wanted to push me—look where it got you, huh? Being fucked like a common whore, ‘cept you’re not getting paid or getting to come tonight."

Bloody fucking Merlin. You gasp around the gag at a particularly hard thrust, clenching around him in arousal at his words.

"Think I’ll edge you a couple times, to really help the lesson sink in, yeah?" Draco's question is mocking, condescending. "Can’t have this slut goin’ around thinking she can just get away with anything she bloody well wants.”

You pant around your gag, unable to stop yourself from whining as Draco slips a finger inside your folds and thumbs your sensitive clit. You buck into his touch desperately, chasing that pleasure, and you whimper out a muffled “‘ease, ‘ease, wan’a ome—”

Draco stills his movements and lifts his hand away and you could scream from the frustration.

His voice is low and smug as he murmurs, “Disobedient sluts don’t get what they want now, do they now?”

-----

come request something or just leave a message! i write for marauders, golden era, and marvel :)

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader smut #harry potter #hp #draco malfoy x y/n smut #draco smut #draco x you #draco malfoy

[writeshite]

Spring and Death

Summary:

It is said the god of death holds no love for anyone, that a demon befell from the heavens and tarnished the death god. At least that’s what your mother said.

Pairings:

Eddie Brock x Male!Reader

Words: 2093

Author's Note:

It has come to my attention that Eddie and Venom have no Hades/Persephone fics, which has left me, quite frankly disappointed. Disclaimer, this doesn't really stick to the mythos, I've borrowed a few things and changed them around. This is basically 2000 words of fluff because the little gremlin in me is saddened that Eddie & Venom have no Hades/Persephone fics. 😤

Reader is the god of spring, Eddie is the god of death, Venom is basically a demon of sorts that's tied to Eddie.

It is said the god of death holds no love for anyone, that a demon befell from the heavens and tarnished the death god. This demon took hold of the god and held his soul, staining it beyond recognition. At least that’s what your mother said. Then again, she may have been biased on that. You’ve never really met the death god; your mother forbade it, going as far as banning his name in her presence. ‘He steals young virgins like yourself,’ she often loved to say, ‘Stay far from the fallen fields, lest he takes you away, my son.’

The warnings had done well to keep you away, but after centuries, your curiosity had peaked. The fallen fields were on the edge of your mother’s domain; they sat at the edge of your mother’s territory and belonged to the death god. Very few dared to enter them; it was often said the god of the dead traversed the fields. There wasn’t a gate to stop you from going; besides, you’d be back before your mother knew you were gone. These thoughts played in your head as you stood at the edge of your mother’s domain; the divide between it and the fields was as clear as day. The grass stopped being green at the border and carried on over in a dull tone. Most of the trees on the field appeared to be in a state of decay. You glanced over your shoulder and stepped through.

The fields were, despite your mother’s stories, quite lovely. Despite their initial appearance, the trees were far from dead; they hummed with life and welcomed you all the same as the other trees over the edge. The animals were also as odd; instead of flesh and fur, they were bones, skeleton ghosts living their lives as they would anywhere else. You held your hand up as a raven flew towards you, it landed on your hand, and you brought it closer for examination. Its outer body was a fine ghost-like form, with the visible skeleton underneath. It tilted its head at you and nuzzled into your other hand as it came to stroke the head. Whatever tales your mother had of this place were mistaken. More creatures came up to you; they directed you towards a clearing; they gathered around you as soon as you sat down. You must’ve dozed off at some point, as the next thing you knew, you awoke in the field.

The animals had moved from around to behind you as if shielding themselves from something ahead. You glanced towards the trees ahead of you; a dark shadow hung among them, emitting a low growl; the animals quivered behind you as the growl escalated. Now, a sensible person would undoubtedly turn tail and run; you, unfortunately, were not a rational person. Your response to this situation was to growl back at the shadow, which, surprisingly, worked. The shadow stopped growling before it spoke in a deep voice.

“Interesting.” it said, “you don’t fear me.”

“Should I?” you dared. There was a chuckle from the shadows before it dispersed. You barely had time to think about the interaction before the sound of your name resonated through the fields; your mother’s agitated voice had the animals moving away and back to the trees. You brushed off your apparel, sighed, and left the clearing.

To say your mother had been angry would be an understatement; as you approached her, you could make out the tell-tale signs of rage around her. Although her demeanor appeared calm, several of the trees nearby were twisting themselves into unnatural shapes; the ground underneath her was cracked, as though an earthquake had just occurred. As soon as you were in her reach, she grabbed you and dragged you over from the fields, inspecting you as though you’d been hurt. Once she’d been satisfied, she brought you into her arms for a hug.

“Promise me you won’t do that again.”’

“I promise.”

You’d like to say that you kept the promise and stayed away, you’d like to, but you didn’t. The shadow had been at the forefront of your mind since that day. Any time you could, you would sneak off to the fields and make your way back to the clearing; every time you were there, the shadow was as well. It hid in the trees; the only part of it you ever saw was its eyes.

“Why don’t you show yourself?”

“I have no desire to taint your perception of me.”

You tilted your head at the answer, “I have no perception of you; how can I when you insist on hiding away in the trees.”

The shadow chuckled, “You are a strange morsel,” it said before disappearing, this time, leaving a man in its place. The man appeared nervous, his hands wringing around each other as he exited the trees and approached you. Like with the shadow, the animals around you moved away; as he got closer, your eyes zeroed in on his neck where a medallion with the sigil of death hung. “I take it you are my shadow,” you amusingly said. “Tell me, death god, do you often take to keeping others company as you did with me?”

“Not really. People aren’t too fond of my other half,” at the words other half, a shadow emerged from the man’s shoulder.

“They’re not too fond of you either.” the voice it spoke in no doubt the same as your shadow. Turning to you, it extended from the man and came up directly to your face, “Scared yet morsel?”

“Not a chance,” you responded, drawing a happy laugh from the shadow and the man. After that, your visits to the field became more frequent, so much so your friendship grew. Eddie and Venom were the man and shadow pair and were nothing like what your mother had described. As you glanced down at Eddie, you felt the fond smile on your face, his head lay on your lap, as you both enjoyed the sun. His eyes opened and focused on you, “What?”

“We were thinking of inviting you to our castle,” he answered.

“Never pegged you for a castle person,” you teased.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “It was built for me when the fields were given to me, not a fan of it. Why do you think I’m always out here?”

“Thought you came out here for me.”

“And if I did?”

You lowered yourself to kiss him, drawing back you chuckled at the expression on his face, “I wouldn’t say I’d mind.”

You tilted your head as Eddie remained shocked; Venom emerged from Eddie in a wisp of shadow, laughing, “I think you broke him.”

“If that’s the case, would you do me the honor of showing me the castle?” Venom took over from Eddie; he stood from your lap and carried you in his arms.

The castle was quite a sight; Eddie and Venom had done little to personalize their home, unlike the other gods. Venom had huffed when you pointed that out, ‘If you want it decorated, then you can do it yourself, he’d muttered, which you took as an unofficial go-ahead to do so. By the time you were bound to leave for the day, their throne room was laden with flowers; you made sure to bring something new to add to the castle every visit. Books, baskets, trinkets, just about anything you could get your hands on.

“What is that?”

You turned away from the embroidery you’d brought in to Eddie, who was pointing at the dog you’d gotten him. “It’s a dog, dear.”

“No, it’s not,” he said, “last time I checked, dogs only had one head and weren’t the size of elephants.” He moved back as the dog yawned and bounded over towards you. “Where did you find him?”

“I didn’t find him; he found me,” Eddie said nothing else and watched in confusion as you rubbed the creature’s stomach. “His name’s Cerberus, by the way.” Eddie was in awe of you. His interaction with the other gods was little to none, with most of them terrified of Venom, the humans even more so; he barely had any company, if any. You brought life to his world and loved him and Venom.

‘If he brings life to our world, why not wed him.’ Venom had been criticizing him on that matter for days now; Eddie would love nothing more than to have you as his husband, but there was the matter of your mother. He doesn’t know what he did to her, but the woman just did not like him; come to think of it, Eddie doubts he’s even exchanged any words with her. ‘Elope then.’ Venom suggested.

‘Great idea, then she’d have a real reason to go after my head.’

Though now as he gazed at you, he weighed his chances, worst case scenario you say no - ‘Why would he say no? He loved us! - Venom interrupted his thoughts. Eddie didn’t say anything else and carried on weighing his options; the best-case scenario is you and him elope and live happily ever after. But he didn’t have a ring, which he might need. He felt Venom groan in frustration as he carried on his thinking; without warning, he found himself in the back seat as Venom took over.

You turned at the sound of Venom taking over, greeting him with a warm smile. The shadow took your hand and went down on one knee, “We know we’re not the best of the gods, nor are we the most beloved, but with you, we feel all that and more. We have no ring to offer. Instead, we give you our love,” he brought you closer and placed your foreheads together, “and a guarantee of loyalty for eternity.”

You were speechless at the declaration; tears welled in your eyes as you rapidly nodded, your response causing a happy purr to come from Venom. You didn’t return home that night, as the three of you eloped under the stars, with mother moon as your witness.

Like all good things, your happy little bubble with your husbands came to an end when your mother stormed the castle. After eloping, you’d chosen to stay in the fallen fields; admittedly, you’d forgotten to mention anything to anyone. Your mother paused as she caught sight of you and Eddie’s intertwined hands; the ground shook as her rage boiled over. Several arguments and an earthquake later, your mother left in a fury.

“Are you ok?” Venom asked, surfacing from Eddie.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your mother just disowned you,” Eddie replied, “You-you don’t have to stay; not being with me gets you that.” Venom swiveled to face the god; you called out to them and drew their attention t you before they could start an argument. “Remember our vows?”

“We offer you our heart, our love, and eternity, as we handfast this night, in the eyes of the mother moon,” Eddie recited.

“We promise to stand together as equals, husband, and husband.” you finished off. “I chose you and Venom, I won’t leave your side, and if my mother or any other god has anything to say about it, well, then they can kiss my ass.”

Venom wrapped himself around you, “Only we get the privilege of kissing your ass.” he proudly declared; his declaration made you burst into laughter.

It is said the god of death and his demon only hold love for the god of spring and that no one, not even the other gods, dare come between them. Mother moon gave her blessing, and later on, she would bless them again by delivering a child.

“Is the child me?” your son asked, glancing between you and Eddie.

“Yes, it is,”

“Did mother moon really deliver me to you?”

You chuckled at your son’s question, “That she did. Didn’t even bother warning us; one moment we were dancing together, the next we heard a baby’s cries.” you told him, “You stole our hearts the second you opened your eyes.”

He yawned, and you to smile softly at him. “I think that’s enough stories for tonight; get some rest, see you in the morning.” Eddie ruffled the kid’s hair; both of you tucked him in and kissed him goodnight. You closed the door behind you, taking Eddie’s hand in yours; you led him back to your room; that night, you fell asleep in the arms of your husbands.

Bonjour my Croissants 🥐

I hope you enjoyed this shite, don't forget to drop your thoughts and if you have a request for something you want me to write, go ahead, Requests are Open.

Credit to @firefly-graphics , it's where I got the orange text dividers from, their blog has lots of dividers that are beautiful and amazing, I highly recommend checking it out.

Stay Hydrated.

#eddie brock x male!reader #eddie brock x reader #fluff #hades/persephone inspired shite #hades!eddie brock #persephone!reader #male!reader

[michimichim]

in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.  

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”  

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.  

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.  

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.  

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.  

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.  

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.  

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

-

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.  

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.  

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.  

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.  

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.  

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”  

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”    

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.  

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.  

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.  

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.    

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.    

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”    

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”    

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"  

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.  

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know. 

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.  

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.  

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.  

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.  

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”  

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.  

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”  

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees. 

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.  

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.    

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.  

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.  

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.  

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”    

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.  

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.  

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin. 

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.  

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.  

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.  

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.  

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other. 

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.  

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.  

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.  

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.  

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.  

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.  

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.  

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.  

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.  

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.  

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.  

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”  

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.  

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.  

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”  

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.  

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.  

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.  

“holy -”  

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.  

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.  

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.  

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.  

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now 

... “daddy, please.”  

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.  

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs. 

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.  

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.  

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.  

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them. 

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.  

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.  

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.  

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.  

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.  

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.” 

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.  

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”  

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.  

#blackpink smut #rose smut #kpop smut #sub kpop #gg smut #wlw

[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

#yoinks sorry i’ve been gone for so long lads #pls take this fic as an offering #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars imagine #captain rex imagine #captain rex oneshot #501st x reader

[asssikawa]

pretty boy swag

i was just in a silly goofy mood, dont take it seriously pls;; gojo x gn! reader

summary: gojo being a pick me boy for you

AU where curses don’t exist; tw underaged smoking and drinking courtesy of shoko. art by @reiouta

you didn’t know how much longer you could tolerate the menace to society; satoru gojo. as of the passing recent months, he started actually acknowledging your existence after months of hanging around his acquaintances. you weren’t sure if you missed that he walked past you as if you were thin air, constantly bumping shoulders with him or gojo actually pestering you in the name of “wanting to get closer.”

walking down the empty halls of your school, you had memorized each route gojo and his group walked down… just to avoid them. an all too familiar voice followed by a song boomed in the empty hallways; dread immediately rose in you, as you attempted to pick up speed to lose track of the white haired teen. “pretty boy coming through,” he said in a sing-a-long voice, his eyes landing on your distant figure. “(name)!” he called out, making you flinch. slowly, you turned your head, a forced smile burning the sides of your mouth.

“hey gojo,” you squeaked out; you wished you could beat yourself up for sounding so meek. on gojo’s sides, two others peered out, the more tolerable ones from the group; suguru getou and shoko ieiri. a sigh of relief left your mouth upon seeing the two. getou’s usual content expression morphed into one of a sly fox.

“now gojo, it’s not nice to scare the underclassmen. you should know better,” getou said, followed up by shoko’s sarcastic tsk tsk of disappointment.

“right? what would poor utahime think about you bothering her best friend?” shoko said. she wore gojo’s sunglasses, adjusting them every now and then when they slid down her high nose bridge.

you take it back. they were just as bad as him.

gojo’s mouth opened to say something, but the bell cut him off. saved by the bell; quite literally. “get to class,” he said instead, another smirk splitting his face.

“i plan to,” you deadpanned, before hastily rushing to your first period, math. never have you wanted to be in math class so bad until gojo popped into your life. hell, you weren’t even good at math.

why had he started tormenting you out of all people? there was nothing particularly extraordinary about you; maybe it was the fact you were close to utahime? or nanami and haibara?

lost in your thoughts and endless possibilities, you had missed the bell ringing until the bubbly boy peered over your desk. his doe-like eyes scanned your dazed out face. “(name)? earth to (name)?” haibara said, waving his hand in front of your face. the taller blond man sighed, watching you finally snap out of your thoughts.

“you don’t even have any of the notes written, (name), that isn’t good for the quiz tomorrow,” nanami said, pulling out his composition book, before beckoning you to take the notebook.

“kenny,” you started.

“i’ll take that notebook right back if you call me that again.”

“you are godsent,” you said, batting your eyelashes his way. a hearty laugh emitted from haibara, his bright smile nearly lit up nanami’s mood once more.

“what’s got you thinking so hard?” haibara asked, draping his body over the seat while watching you pack up.

“surely if you’re thinking, it’s never good,” nanami muttered, earning an offended ‘hey’ from you. pressing your cheek against your balled fist, letting out a small hum. do you tell them or not?

“it’s just that, you know how gojo had never acknowledged me before? he’s been non stop pestering me these days and i’m thinking to myself; why? he couldn’t possibly like utahime and trying to get information out of me, she hates his guts!” you exclaimed, adjusting the bag over your shoulders. the duo glanced at each other, focusing back on you.

“(name), have you considered that he may like you? you know? have a crush?” haibara said, scratching the back of his head. you stayed silent for a while, pondering on the idea of gojo liking you.

“that’s a joke right,”

“why are you so pessimistic about people actually taking interest in you, romantically?” nanami asked, leaning against the desk.

“no romantic attention from anyone my entire life,” you said, standing from your seat.

“how lonely,” haibara responded.

~

the last few periods went by quicker than expected. the ring of the bell pulled you out of your thoughts, turning away from the window. it was surprisingly beautiful for this time of year; the skies were blue, soft fluffy clouds passed every now and then. the occasional gust of wind rattled windows of your class as your teacher paused his lecture. you preferred the gloomy weather, but seeing the clear skies was nice. packing up your materials and standing, you peered out the door, widening your eyes. down the hall was your trio of haibara, nanami and utahime… speaking to the other trio. utahime’s raven hair was tied in a low ponytail, a vague look of annoyance washed over on her face as gojo spoke, her expression softened every time shoko had interjected the conversation. you always wondered why the two aren’t dating yet. nanami’s eyes landed on your figure, his fingers pointed downwards towards the steps, in hopes gojo hadn’t seen you yet.

unfortunately for the both of you, he had caught notice of nanami’s subtle hand motions and followed his eyes towards you. “wow, it’s (name)! we were just waiting on you!” gojo said, his sunglasses shifted downwards, revealing his icicle blue eyes. utahime turned towards you, mouthing an ‘i am so sorry.’ reluctantly, your feet dragged along the halls, it felt as if weights were tied around your ankles. eventually, you made it towards the group; gojo’s long arm draped around your shoulders. your heart raced at the sudden gesture, heat raising to your face. “wouldn’t we be so cute together? look how big my hand is compared to theirs!” he exclaimed, his hand engulfed in yours.

“nah, you guys wouldn’t, sorry he’s so annoying, (name). no wonder why getou gets more hoes than you,” shoko said, pulling out a single cigarette and a lighter from her bag. her auburn eyes met yours, “want one?”

“shoko! how many times do i have to say not to smoke? and (name) is young too!” utahime sighed, earning a small ‘sorry’ from the girl. the black haired teen peered over at you, another sly expression settling over his face.

“say, satoru; let me compare hands with (name) too, i want to see something,”

“you can compare from afar,” gojo responded, pulling you closer to his side. a chesire cat grin split shoko’s face, slinging her arm over your body as well.

“cmon satoru, sharing is caring~” her body smelt of husky tobacco, traces of pinewood on her uniform. her breath smelt like strawberry bubblegum; her glossed lips came closer to your ear, “play along,” she whispered, her brunette strands brushing against your cheek. a snore followed by a scoff came from gojo’s scrunched up expression.

“don’t you have a bottle of vodka you should be downing? besides (name) doesn’t like girls like you,” he said, sticking out his tongue.

“well, why don’t we ask (name), what do you say?”

“don’t put them on the spot like that; seriously, you guys, you’re third years for pete’s sake,” utahime swatted shoko’s arm off your body whilst poking gojo’s side, making him squeal as he let go of you. a frown replaced his usual cocky expression.

“geez utahime, i didn’t take you as the jealous type- ouch, what was that for?” gojo exclaimed, the water bottle bouncing off his head. he rubbed his head. you stared at haibara’s sympathetic expression, still processing everything that happened within a matter of minutes.

just what the fuck was going on?

weeks had passed since that incident and things had become fairly normal again. your grades were flourishing, with the help of haibara and nanami. the three of you have been hanging out more often; utahime and shoko finally started dating. the two of them occasionally tagged along with your trio. gojo has finally stopped pestering you; you should be happy, no? you had convinced yourself that you didn’t miss the attention from the white haired teen. everything you did felt empty without his presence.

you had memorized each hallway gojo and his group walked down, passing through them; in hopes he would stop you, calling your name in his usual whiny voice. you didn’t hear his favorite song; no more him bringing you close with his lanky arms. subconsciously, you brought your hand close to your shoulders, feeling the ghost of gojo’s touch. “(name)? what are you doing here? more like, why are you standing there?” a feminine voice called out. you turned, seeing shoko standing down the hall, her bag slugged over her shoulder, a lit cigarette dangled from the corner of her lips.

“shoko,” her name left your lips in a hushed whisper. “why are you here?” she quirked her lip to the side, pursing her pink lips.

“i’m heading to see menace 1 and menace 2, now, answer my question. you hardly come around these parts,” shoko said, leaning against the wall.

“can i come with you?”

“huh… ah, you miss gojo?” overwhelming amounts of embarrassment washed over your expression; you could already sense your face radiating in heat.

“whatever! i just want to check up on him, that’s all.”

walking down the road, you and shoko conversed, her short auburn tresses blowing in the wind. the roads and sidewalks were painted orange as the sun nestled under the skyline.

“i thought you stopped smoking?” you asked, as shoko tossed the finished cigarette on the sidewalk, stomping on it.

“i’m trying for utahime, but it gets hard when i’m stressed, you know? especially with dumb and dumber,” she said, pulling out a silver flask.

“shoko!”

“what? do you want a sip?”

“no!”

sitting at the park, getou and gojo awaited shoko’s arrival. squinting his eyes at the distance, getou spotted two figures walking towards them. “looks like shoko has company,” getou mentioned, looking back at his taller companion. a frustrated groan left gojo; his glasses slipping down his face.

“good god, if she brings utahime again,” he responded, extending his arms on the bench, his legs spread out. a sly smirk twitched onto getou’s face.

“hey shoko and (name)!” getou exclaimed, waving. gojo’s half-lidded eyes shot open at your name, adjusting his sunglasses. his lanky body rose from the bench, straightening out his sluggish position. he cleared his throat, crossing his legs over each other. upon seeing getou and shoko greet one another, your eyes drifted off to the white haired male sitting in the background, avoiding eye contact with you. a crestfallen expression washed over your face, shuffling over to gojo.

“hey, gojo,” you said softly, sitting across from him. he let out a hum of acknowledgement before looking down at the painted bench. “why have you been avoiding me?”

“why have i been avoiding you? i don’t know (name), maybe just maybe, it’s because i don’t want to bother you with my advances, y’know? could be a contributor i guess, i don’t know, it’s a mystery,” gojo responded, traces of sarcasm in his usual bright voice. he was quite literally a child, huh? your mind recoiled, a frown twitching onto your face. is this who you really want to date?

“listen, i know, and i’m sorry; i just miss you a lot, okay? i like you by my side,” you muttered the last part to yourself. unfortunately for you, gojo had heard every single bit of it.

“huh? what did you say?” he teased, resting his hand on top of yours. his glasses slide down his nose, revealing his ice blue eyes. “you like me, eh?”

“don’t push it.”

the winter semester rolled by rather quickly. walking into the heated building, you removed your outside shoes and scarf. after preparing yourself for the long day, you walked down the hallway, spotting your group down the hallway. peering over the group, gojo waved at you with a big smile, his cheeks and nose tip flushed red from the cold. “babe!” he said, walking over to you with opened arms. heat rose to your face, as he wrapped his arms around you, peppering your face with small kisses. his cold fingers cupped your feverish skin. “my own personal heater,” he said.

“hey, get a room, you two,” shoko said, pulling out an unlit cigarette. utahime frowned at her, as shoko mumbled a small sorry before putting away the cigarette.

“i know miss locking lips isn’t talking,” gojo sneered back. “guys look at how cute (name) is compared to me! their hands are so small!” he gushed, pressing your warm hands against his.

if it were you four months ago, you’d rip away your hand in disgust, however, a warm smile split your face, holding onto his long slender fingers.

“look they are even holding onto me,” gojo said, as the bell rang. everyone shuffled around to their respective classes as you and your group stayed at the end of the hall. with a smirk, his white eyelashes fluttered under his sunglasses. they slowly went down his nose bridge, exposing his beautiful eyes once more. “get to class.”

#gojou satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #shoko x utahime #jjk geto #jjk nanami

[0ghostwriter0]

It's You

A/N this is part two but part one is here

MASTERLIST

Pairings: Henry Cavill x reader

Word count: 1,638

Warnings: Smut also this is my first time writing smut so ahhh

Summary: You and Henry are finally single do you have a shot?

From the outside, this house looks lavish. It has been built with wood covered in render and has white pine wooden decorations. Tall, squared windows allow enough light to enter the home and have been added to the house in a mostly asymmetric way. The Autumn breeze had scooped a last lake of leaves around the grand front door. Still scooped in Henry’s arms, you nuzzled closer to protect you from the sharp air. As you were carried down the small concrete path, Henry reluctantly let your small frame back on the ground to retrieve a clump of assorted keys.

From the inside, the vast entryway was silent before a bounding bear attacked your shaking knees. Grinning widely, you bent down to pat his fluffy belly. Behind you, Henry admired the new sight before him as he slowly removed a jet black leather jacket. Placing the jacket on the coat hooks to his right, Henry drop his keys on the sideboard. The sudden clink made you jump to stand up straight much to Henry’s disappointment. Swiftly, moving to greet his pal, Henry amused the energetic Akita with hasty cuddles.

“Now Kal, I need to borrow your friend and I’ll get her back to you later” Henry cooed to the bear as he guided him into the living room. Now residing behind Henry, you started to fumble with the hem of your skater skirt. Suddenly panicking, you remembered how press follow you everywhere as well as Henry which meant they could be outside now. Swinging around to face the door, your soft trembling turned into shaking.

Pulling you out of thought, Henry snaked his arms around you from behind and brought his mouth teasingly to your ear. The warm breath sent shivers to your core. You feel safe yet completely exposed at the same time. Bitting your lip gently, your body falls into the deep musk of the burly man. All insecurities flow out of your body like a wave of relief.

“Henry, I… I think I’ve.. urm” your fear of relationships after your ex had only worsened but you needed this. He could tell you had reservations about commencing a relationship more than friends as it could risk all you’d built together. Relinquishing you from his grasp, Henry swirled you around like an eloquent ice skater.

“We can talk and I’ll fix you some breakfast or coffee,” Henry spoke softly while lifting your chin. Fixating on his warm honey eyes, you tried to nod but his warm hand restricted the movement of your chin. He chuckled softly before heading across the vast hallway to a neatly kept kitchen. Being the perfect house guest, you slipped off your dainty ballerina pumps. Carefully and cautiously, you feet followed the ghost of henry’s movements. Along the way you smiled as you spotted his discarded timberland boots.

Allured by the sweet sent of freshly ground coffee, you realised that he must have anticipated that you’d agree to come home with him. He knew how your mind worked and it drove you crazy. Like a mouse you creeped up behind the work of god. Unfortunately, you were caught by a smirking Henry rest beside two freshly made coffees. Mercilessly, the muscular adonis ravished your neck with sweet pecks.

“I need to sa- mmmm” melting into the sensual act, your words were swapped with delightful whimpers. The sweet noise halted as Henry loomed over your clavicle; gracefully, his eager hand was stroking small circles to the small of your back.

“I think that I have feelings for you… urm like not friends…like more int-“ pausing when the graze of Henry’s voluptuous lips were just within reach, your mind was racing- burning like the soft spot that sat between you legs.

“Think or know?” His husky tone sparked an exquisite roaring flame in the depths of your womb. To build up your courage, you pressed your foreheads together like a mating lioness.

“I know… and I need you,” Henry growls in at your answer like a prima mate. Desperately, the husky animal ambushed your pillow lips as your bodies yearn for each other. You hum as his hands pull your body to cling to him. Gasping softly as he sucks on your bottom lip, you moth gapes open allowing a perfect passage for Henry’s wandering tongue. God why did you wait so long? His talented lips steal dirty whimper which distracts your senses from the wandering hand which slips beneath your knitted top. Carefully, exploring the roundness of your perky breasts, Henry growled at meeting your erect nipples. His member grew painful hard. You’d both waited a long time.

“Bed!” You mewled. Of which he hastily complied as he rushed you up the hard oak staircase. With each step of the stairs, you felt the overwhelming bulge of Henry’s desire. Colliding with the closed door, your kissed grew desperate as Henry forcefully broke open the door. This man. The hard tent in his pants jerked into your clothed core. Frantically, Henry threw you on to the quilted four-post bed. When you get back to this moment again, your sure he’ll utilise all four posts. Sensually, Henry hovers over your lower half as he slips down the suede skater skirt. You breath hitches as his warm breath attacks your exposed upper thighs.

Trailing up to your apex, Henry litters you with butterfly kisses while using his soft claws to kneed your breasts. Impatient and aroused, you discard your knitted top and comfy bra. Grinning mischievously, Henry parts your soaked panties and dips the tip of his tongue into the river of arousal between your lower lips. While you moan for him, he plunged deeper to draw out his name from your lips.

Momentarily, Henry removes his experienced tongue to free your tilt from the constraints of your soaking knickers. Rip. The dark lace broke under the needy hands of the roused man but it didn't bother you in the slightest. You needed to replace the overwhelming pleasure that was once captivating your entrance. Henry watched greedily as you slipped you hand down to the dripping folds and dipped your fingers into the searing heat. A growl released as your whimpering grew stronger with self-pleasure but it was nothing compared to the sensation Henry made you feel. Sinking his own fingers into your arousal, Henry added much-needed friction to your aching mound.

“Ahhhh Hennnnry just mmhmm make love to me” you desperately cried out. Harshly, Henry whipped your fingers from your vagina. If anyone would make you come undone then it would be him and only him. Vigorously, the thick fingers were snapping in and out of the pool of arousal making you edge closer to your apex. Determined and ravenous, Henry continued to piston his digits as he drew himself up the bed to capture your face in a hungry attack. You used this new position to drift your hand over his clothed cock. Gasping slightly, Henry allowed you access to delve into his perfect mouth. Smirking softly, you revelled in the sweet taste of your core which had invaded Henry's mouth. Curling inside you, the skilled fingers knocked you off the edge.

“I'm...” you tried to communicate but your orgasm ripped through you like a hurricane which Henry took advantage of as he's tongue won dominance in your mouth. Drawing out your release, Henry slowed his relentless fingers as your warm juices trickled down his thick fingers. Pulling away slowly, lips barely touching, Henry looked down to admire the mess you'd created because of him. Gently, his digits were removed from your swollen mound and placed in his mouth to taste his triumph. You took this moment to plan you strategy for attack.

“So sweet and hot, imagine that all over my length. I'm going to stuff you so full you can feel me through next week. You-” even though Henry's words made your core tingle in the second run of excitement, you cut him off.

“Make love to me” Henry did not need to be told again. Stripping to show all, Henry made sharp and efficient work of discarding every article of clothing left on the two of you. He leaned in and pressed his pillow lips against yours as he shifted his hands to your back; guiding you under his godly frame, Henry clutched your body against his. With urgency, the Adonis drove his tongue between your lips and plunged it into your mouth which earned a soft moan from your occupied mouth. A playful glint arose from your eye as your wandering hand circulated his pulsing member.

A small gasp rendered from your lips due to the hunger emitted from Henry's attack on your lips. You emulated this with light pressure and slow(ish) strokes of his length. Slowly building speed, you heard a low growl emulating from Henry. Drifting, Henry's hands resume their position to massage your breasts as his hips buck into your faster strokes. Breaking away for air, Henry rested his head at your neck leaving small sensual nips in his wake.

“I need to feel your walls around me, ” his breathy growl tickles your ear in delight. As you already use the pill, you moved immediately to place yourself in a prime position. Removing your hand, Henry guided his extremely hard length to tease you slick entrance. Bucking your hips, you couldn't handle the overwhelming sensation.

“Are you sure?” Henry questioned again as he stared deeply into you eyes. His honey orbs melted your heart. Placing you hands on his cheeks, you pushed a delicious kiss onto his plump lips.

“Yes, ” Pulling away, you looked deep into the eyes of each other as Henry dipped his penis into the pool of pleasure. Both moaning simultaneously, you moved like a finely tuned orchestra- in perfect harmony with one another. This was heaven.

TAG LIST: @evrthefanatic @i-should-probably-be-asleep-rn @esmmyy @thecavillstache @325575 @pamela-stark98 @abb-lan-5sos @jessiecavill @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat

Join the list

#henry cavill #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill x you #henry x you #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #smut #superman #august walker #imagines #preferences #henry cavill fanfic #henners #hcav #one shot #fluff

[ahtsumu]

again and again and again ; ushijima wakatoshi

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x f!reader

synopsis: every august 13th, a void opens in your chest. the universe is one sick bastard.

tag(s): soulmate!au, very angsty, equally fluffy, reincarnation!au, prince!ushijima, rebel!ushijima. android!ushijima, dad!ushijima, pro-volleyball player!ushijima ; warning(s): lots of death n dying, suggestive themes, light profanity ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday ushi!!! inspired by cloud atlas and the raven cycle but you don’t have to have seen either to understand this fic. tbh it’s just a bunch of different au’s tied together by the strings of fate lol. a thousand thank you’s to @dorkyama​ for beta-ing!

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

It’s another August 13th and Ushijima Wakatoshi might die today.

Glumly, you push away the plate of breakfast in front of you, cross your arms over the new space, and rest your forehead down as if in front of a grave.

“Please,” you beg with eyes shut. “Let Ushijima Wakatoshi live today.”

(You’ve whispered this phrase infinite times–– so often that it has a home in your mouth like a cavity.)

SOMEWHERE IN WASHINGTON, 2012

When you first meet Ushijima–– the first first time–– it’s evening and you’re lost in a meadow somewhere in Washington. Where exactly doesn’t quite matter and, even if it did, you wouldn’t be able to remember. At least, not at this moment. Because you see something most peculiar.

Under the half-lit sky, in the glade of overgrown sweet vernal grass and marigolds and daisies, a figure stands paler than the moon overhead.

The body belongs to a young man dressed in a sweater and slacks. His dark hair parts on the side, stopping right above a pair of firm dark eyes. Thin lips press in a perfunctory line, sharp nose radiates an aura of authority.

And yet, he looks lost.

“Hello?” you call out. The boy doesn’t respond, only continues to hover in the middle of the clearing with the same confounded expression on his face. So you ignore the pounding of your heart in your chest and inch closer until you’re just feet away, shivering. It’s a strangely cold day for July, you think.

“Can you tell me your name?” you ask. Seconds pass in silence as he stares past–– no, through–– you. With your thudding heartbeat and shallow breaths still the only sounds in the meadow, you realise that you may have to try something else.

Gently, you touch the pads of your fingers to his shoulder. A fresh wave of ice floods through your veins, raising goosebumps all over your skin. More curiously, though, your fingers fall through said shoulders. It feels like plunging your hand into a bucket of ice.

Eyes wide, you lunge backwards. A ghost?

No, ghosts aren’t real.

(If that’s the case, then what is he?)

At your touch, the boy’s head jerks up. Life floods his gaze. Blinking, he says, “Ushijima.” His voice is low and smooth, but quiet. Firm. He looks around the meadow as if seeing it for the first time.

“Is that all?”

Ushijima’s focus returns to you, this time with the addition of furrowed brows. His eyes are fixed on you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s reading your soul.

“That’s all there is.”

A million questions race through your mind and before you can decide which to ask first, his incorporeal figure vanishes from the meadow.

And you’re alone again.

Oddly enough, the way back to your aunt’s house comes naturally to you. Once inside the ancient wooden manor, you realise that the feeling that guided you back was the same that had led you to the meadow in the first place.

Then, you wonder, had you truly been lost?

Aunt Risa’s an eccentric woman in her thirties, always yabbering on about Mercury in retrograde and events that are yet to happen. Grandma had been the same. Clairvoyance, or what everyone claims is “clairvoyance”, supposedly runs in your family. You wouldn’t know, though, because apparently it skipped your mother. Coincidentally (or not), she’s extremely proud of her normality. And she’s also extremely proud that you, supposedly, are normal, too.

It’s safe to say that you don’t see your mother’s family often.

Still, she sent you here from New York to “connect with your roots”. And even though you know that’s a cover for “raise hell somewhere else for one summer”, you let yourself consider that it means getting acquainted with the mystic mumbo-jumbo you’ve ignored all these years. After all, nothing normal can explain what just happened in the field… right?

Good thing Aunt Risa isn’t normal.

“That’s Glendower’s Meadow you were just in,” she says with a twinkle in her eyes. “Lies atop a very powerful ley line.”

Ley lines, you learn, connect places around the world through electromagnetic forces. They are also able to transcend time, gravity, space… all forces that cannot be seen.

Aunt Risa adds that they do more than just connect places. “Soulmates countries apart can step on any point in the same line to see each other. It’s been said that the power ley lines emit is so strong that even soulmates worlds and years apart can meet in these little pockets of energy. Guess it tides you over til you’re destined to meet.”

Somehow, everything she says makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Soulmates? Magic? None of this is real, is it?

“Now,” she continues, “it’s odd that you can use ley lines, though. Remember how you couldn’t tell a black jackal from a swan the last time you read tea leaves?”

You frown. At seven years old, you hadn’t exactly been trying.

“I guess there is something supernatural about you! You can’t deny how magical it is to have a love that transcends lifetimes…”

You don’t hear the rest of what she has to say. “Lifetimes?”

“Yup. Soulmates are the only people in this universe who go through reincarnation. The Universe is a hopeless romantic, letting her children fall in love again and again and again.”

And this explanation satisfies you because you’re sixteen, a little naive, and the Universe has never failed you before.

(She will.)

July passes in a honeyed haze: you spend every day with a content curve to your lips, thinking about a boy with eyes and hair dark as night.

Aunt Risa doesn’t have the heart to tell you that she’s seen his future in this life. And when you step out the creaky wooden door for the last time, ready to go back to the bustling jungle that is New York, she calls out to you with an expression you don’t yet recognise. “Don’t you worry, hun. You’ll see that Ushijima boy again.”

But not like this.

You’re about to get out of bed and dress for the first day of school when an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler runs his driver’s black SUV off the road. Ushijima Wakatoshi dies on August 13th in his timezone.

As it happens, you feel a strange sense of loss settle in. It’s like you’d been driving on the highway and just missed the last turn home.

(You’ll learn in the next life that you, in fact, do not have the gift of foresight. But you do have the curse of memory.)

PARIS, FRANCE, 1749

The year is 1749 and sunlight pours through the windows of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s second-floor bedroom.

In this life–– your second life–– you are a brilliant composer. The Universe, as you’ve guessed, follows no rules, no directions. Doesn’t even spare a glance at a linear timeline. Or perhaps, it’s time that isn’t linear. Either way, you try not to think about things out of your control. Life is good now.

At the sound of your fingers waltzing across ivory and ebony, Ushijima slowly sits up in the king-sized, soft linen sheets falling to reveal his chiselled torso.

“Good morning,” he rasps, a content smile tugging at his lips. “You look enchanting as always.”

The melody stops. Between the lid and music rack, your eyes meet–– his gentle, yours mirthful. “You flatter me,” you deny with a cheeky grin. Still, you rise (wearing his robes, Ushijima notes) from your seat and stroll over to your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I live another year just for you.” Ushijima really means that–– in fact, he believes with his whole heart that he was made for you and you him. There’s no other way to explain how your bodies mould so perfectly together, how you understand each other without even speaking, how time feels like it doesn’t exist whenever you’re around. Your meeting at Duke La Trémoille’s ball could only have been the work of Fate’s nimble fingers.

(It was. A ley line runs underneath the Duke’s family château.)

You hum, thankful that this time you have the privilege to love him as he lives. Your last life was spent agonising over the only memory you had of him. “And what does this day have in store for the man of the hour?” The words that leave your lips morph into bubbling laughter as he moves aside on the bed and pulls you into his embrace. Still giggling, you kiss his bare chest, relishing in how secure his arms feel around your waist.

“Mother is hosting a ball tonight in my honour,” he says. That you are not invited to, he doesn’t add. He doesn’t have to, though, because you know that she doesn’t approve of you. Not being French is the main reason why, but there’s also the fact that you’re a musician. A talented, accomplished, royally recognised musician, sure, but that doesn’t change how at the end of the day, all you have to your name is inked paper.

And Ushijima Wakatoshi is first in line for the throne of France.

“Ah.”

It’s hardly fair for you to feel slighted–– you knew what you were getting into the second the Crown Prince, notorious for his aloof nature, invited you to Versailles to perform for him and his friends.

(In his defense, Duke Tendou had forced his hand by threatening to throw a fit in front of the Queen, but only after he’d seen the painfully restrained wonder in the prince’s eyes.)

Still, you yearn for something more.

Ushijima feels your body stiffen in his arms and knows the moment has soured. “You can never be Queen of France,” he murmurs into your neck. Shivers crawl down your spine the same time tears prick at your eyes. “And I can never give you a throne.” It’s not the throne you yearn for.

“I know.” You curse whoever the lucky girl will be. And you curse Ushijima for reminding you that she will definitely not be you.

“I can only promise you my heart.” He presses his lips to the side of your neck. “My undying devotion.” A kiss to your exposed shoulder. “And my soul in every life we meet.” His hand slides under your chin and turns your head towards his. Soft lips move against yours while the pads of his fingers wipe away the tears that had spilled over your cheeks.

“Toshi, I must say that the literature tutor your mother hired is doing a marvellous job,” you murmur once you pull apart.

A short breath of amusement leaves his nose. “He’s only polishing a gem that already exists,” Ushijima counters.

You smile slyly, another witty remark ready to launch from your mouth, when three sharp knocks at the door cause both of you to freeze.

“My friends, the Devil approaches.” Tendou’s faint voice travels through the opulent front door.

Sighing, you slide off the bed and tug your day dress on. Without being asked, Ushijima ties the laces in the back together. “Tell your mother I said hello, won’t you?” you tease, kissing him deeply on the balcony.

“I’d prefer not to think about my mother with your lips pressed to mine, darling,” he replies.

You giggle softly, and with one leg dangling off the balustrade, say, “And careful not to wear yourself out dancing, Toshi. Expect a visit from me later.”

His sonorous laughter rings through the air as you jump and land deftly on the freshly cut grass below, running the whole way back to your humble apartment in the eleventh arrondissement.

Regrets of not sneaking into the ball will burn into your brain after Tendou arrives at your door later that evening with a faraway stare on his face.

Towards the end of the ball, Ushijima Wakatoshi is led away from the dance floor and into the gardens by his scheming younger brother Goshiki.

He doesn’t return. The beloved Crown Prince of France dies on his twenty-first birthday with a dagger in his chest and poison in his veins.

With two lives under your belt, you reach the cruel understanding that in every life you live, August 13th is the day that Ushijima Wakatoshi dies again and again and again.

In a sense, memory is foresight.

NEO SEOUL, 2144

Tomorrow, the Union Revolutionary Group exposes the government for their crimes against your people.

But tonight, your head rests against his chest–– a habit you picked up sometime after Germany, 1943, even though you are presently in Neo Seoul, 2144. To be honest, you’re not sure if it’s even 2144. Neo Seoul’s calendar isn’t like the one you went through your first few lives with and you’re certain one year here is equivalent to two back on the Earth you knew… or something like that. Either way, every August 13th passes under your nose without detection. Every day passes uneasily, because although you never truly know when anyone dies in any life, you really don’t know when he will in this one.

But hearing Ushijima’s heart beat firmly manages to take the edge off yours. Every pulse is a murmured confirmation that everything is still okay.

You jerk back when he stirs from sleep. Disorientated, Ushijima blinks at your dimly lit figure before registering that it’s you. A confused expression crosses his features. What had you just been doing?

“Is everything alright?” His voice is raspy with drowsiness but he sits upright against the headboard anyway.

“Yeah.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me what’s wrong.” Nothing ever slips past him–– at least, not when it comes to you. Still, you bite your lip and contemplate if it’s worth mentioning. Three years of working alongside the renegade Commander (and hundreds more from other lifetimes) have taught you that words of comfort do not belong in Ushijima’s vocabulary. But it’s the night before you, the only known freed Fabricant working with the Union, are going to expose the Unanimity’s enslavement of Fabricants to all inhabitants of Neo Seoul. And…

“I’m scared, Wakatoshi.”

He thinks you’re talking about tomorrow. His eyes dart to the holographic digits floating throughout his room. 12:02 AM. You’re talking about today, then. He’s not wrong–– you are afraid of today. But you’re also afraid every day.

Ushijima pauses, wondering what to say. He’s never felt fear the same way others do. Others might only see a myriad of ways they can fail or die but he simply sees a chance to prove himself. A chance to emerge victorious. “If you let yourself be scared,” he says, “then you lose without fighting. Fear is a wasted emotion. Even at your last breath, you should never be afraid.”

As you mull his words over in your head, a section of your hair falls in front of your face. Ushijima’s fingers twitch. Would it be too much to––

“Then what should I feel instead?” He stills.

The question hangs in the air, thickening until the spacious room feels suffocating. Normal people–– people you knew a couple of lifetimes ago–– would probably say something like “love” or “hope” or even “don’t”. You think Ushijima might, too.

But when Ushijima speaks, he says, “Feel right now.”

A shift in the moonbeam pouring through your surrounding glass walls casts a muted glow over your features, breaking through the darkness of the room. Ushijima’s olive eyes flash and fall to your shining lips.

His Adam’s apple bobs. Anticipation bubbles in your stomach.

You think that you might die tomorrow. He might die any day. What are you waiting for?

Feeling a fiery rush of blood surge through your veins, you close the distance between your bodies until the tips of your noses touch. Gently, your hand comes up to the back of his neck, feeling his pulse speed up under your fingers. He instantly reaches out, grips your waist firmly. Hot, uneven breaths fan across your face.

“What––”

“I know it’s forbidden between Fabricants and pure-bloods,” you breathe out, “but––”

Ushijima nudges his lips against yours. They move stiffly, unsurely, but it’s sincere. It’s his first kiss and it’s your… you’ve lost count by now. It doesn’t really matter, though. Past, future, or present, every one of his touches feels new.

Both of you might die tomorrow. But tonight, you both are so very alive.

And when his heart pounds, unmuffled, bare against yours, you are reminded to live now.

Twenty-one hours later, a laser beam whizzes past your ear.

“Go faster!” you shout over the wind, tightening your arms around Ushijima’s waist. “We have to get to the broadcast station now.”

“I’m trying,” he grits out, pressing his foot harder against the hoverbike’s pedal. You speed up, but only a little. “Fuck. Remember what I taught you about the laser pistols?”

“Always aim a little higher than you want to.” From the mirrors on the side, you see the corners of his lips quirk up. You reach for the gun in his belt.

Not a single police officer remains on your tail when you step foot into the broadcast station.

“We don’t have much time, miracle girl,” Tendou, a fellow Union soldier, says once you arrive. He punches the elevator button. Instantly, the chute opens. “Cameras have picked up on at least five Unanimity squads headed our way from the city.”

The sinking feeling that today out of all days might be August 13th suddenly weighs on your stomach. A shaky breath leaves your mouth.

Ushijima stops you before you can step in. Cupping your face with his large hands, the brunet gazes deeply into your eyes. “I believe in you,” he murmurs. “I believe in you.” His fingers brush against your cheekbones. You let your eyelids close, relishing in this stolen moment between two new lovers.

Ushijima presses his lips against yours, kissing you as if he’s trying to carve a message into your bones. He whispers his conviction one last time before stepping back and allowing Tendou to push you lightly into the elevator. The thought that Ushijima’s words allude to more than just faith nudges your brain as the two men grow smaller in your sight.

Halfway through your revelations, the Unanimity cuts through the metal doors of the station. Behind the glass panels encasing the radio room, you watch the shootout begin. Every bone in your body screams for you to join your comrades, but you remember what your orders are. No matter what happens, do not stop the broadcast. If the truth doesn’t come out now, the Union will have sacrificed everything in vain.

You will your voice to steady when Unanimity soldiers take out the Union soldiers hiding behind Tendou’s barricade.

You will your hands to unclench when Ushijima deftly slides over his squad’s barricade and tosses a plasma grenade towards a cluster of enemy soldiers, then picks off the survivors with his Union rifle.

You will your breath to endure when the brunet is blown back by a grenade tossed by another squadron. Ushijima’s cranium collides with the floor. His body stills; blood red as cherry wine pools around his head like a cruel halo. Swallowing, you push forth. You’re a soldier.

But you can’t help the way your throat dries or hands shake or lungs tighten when you see his head turn ever-so-slightly in your direction.

He smiles in his last breath.

(The Archivist asks if you loved Ushijima before you are taken away. You tell him you always have, do, will.

The Unanimity guillotine doesn’t scare you like you think it should. Knowing what and who waits ahead, it feels more like a kiss to your neck.)

QAASUURI, 3003

As you step out of the metal carriage, the ground beneath you begins to vibrate. This, as you’ve learned, can only mean that you are standing atop another ley line.

Olive eyes stare at you impassively when you look up. A dazzling array of awards and medals is pinned to his chest over a white military uniform. Compared to all the other soldiers around him, you gather that the deep purple cape over his shoulders means he’s someone important. Possibly your betrothed? You briefly recall another lifetime in which he’d been the crown prince of somewhere, and you, by a spectacular stroke of misfortune, had only been a composer then. Fighting back a smug grin, you muse that this time, you are a princess.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi, Captain of the Qaasuuri Royal Guard, at your service,” he says with a low bow. “King Washijou appointed me to ensure your safety during your courtship with the prince, your highness. These are trying times, especially with the war against Ibis.” Your heart falls. So it’s one of those lives.

Mustering the warmest smile you can, you curtsy and say, “Thank you, Ushijima. I hope we can get to know each other better.”

You do.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But nothing about him feels artificial. He is as real as he was in Berlin. Atlantis. Cairo. Camelot. Hanoi. Olympus. Tallahassee. He feels as human, too.

You get to relearn the way his cheeks flare up when you call him Toshi and not Ushijima for his first time (force of habit)... and every subsequent time (at your pleasure).

You get to relearn his wry humour, how every-so-often his stony demeanour breaks after one of your quick jabs, usually in response to his agonisingly blunt remarks. (“You should have brought a coat, princess,” he notes with disapproval when you shiver in the chilly spring air. You promise him that you look better with hypothermia than in any Qaasuuri coat. An amused breath blows out from his nose. And though he doesn’t say a word more on the subject, his white jacket over your shoulders speaks more than enough.)

You get to relearn how his hands feel on your skin. The first lesson is your mistake: missing a step down the spiralling staircase on your way to dinner. Automatically, his hand grips your arm to pull you back. He uses a little more force than necessary, though, and tugs you into his firm chest. Neither of you can look at each other for the rest of the evening. The second is his mistake: reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you read in the palace library, somehow knowing it’s one of your pet peeves. Both of you freeze when his fingers accidentally brush against your cheek. Ushijima thinks he’s never felt skin softer than yours–– you think it’s been too long since he last touched you.

The third is neither a mistake nor just one of your doings. It happens on a cool autumn evening as the two of you walk through the palace gardens with your hands dangling haphazardly at your sides, knocking against each other again and again as if begging for an opening. Finally, you acquiesce. You slip your hand into Ushijima’s cold palms. And though nothing shows on his stony face, his heart whirrs like an overheating engine for the rest of your walk. He doesn’t let go until the iron palace comes back into view.

“We should stop,” he pants between fervent kisses, “before this gets out of hand.” You nip at his neck. “You’re betrothed to the prince––” you suck on the skin between his collarbones and throat, drawing a low groan from his lips “––and I can never give you a throne.”

You pull back, knees on either side of his waist, and stare down into his eyes. “I don’t want a throne.” Ushijima watches you with rapt attention. Sometimes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he remembers. Slowly, you repeat his words from lifetimes ago. “I only want your heart.” An unreadable expression crosses his face. “Your devotion.” It’s not recognition. “And your soul.”

It’s conviction.

By now you’ve seen many breathtaking things: entire cities built from ice, the end of the ocean, a Venusian sunrise. None compare to Ushijima Wakatoshi with his pupils blown wide, hair tousled, lips flushed. Red with love.

None compare when he promises, “You have that and more.”

A pause.

“Show me.”

With an effortless flip, Ushijima’s muscled body hovers over yours, olive eyes flashing wildly in your dim chambers.

Amid fast breaths and guttural moans, amid steely olive eyes and parted lips, amid the subatomic space between your bodies, you feel it cloak your skin like armour.

Love.

(The Ibis storm the Qaasuuri castle one month before the wedding. Ushijima fights the invaders valiantly, superhuman modifications undoubtedly being of help. But there’s just too many of them. The last thing he tells you is to run. The world burns when you look over your shoulder, only to see a Ibisian sword drive through his heart.

The Qaasuuri are a race more android than human. But they still bleed the same.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2018

The oldest you ever witness him live to is thirty-two years old.

It’s the morning of August 13th and you walk into the kitchen to the sight of Ushijima Wakatoshi lifting your daughter up into the sky, spinning her little body around in circles, the pancakes on the stove slowly bronzing to a mouthwatering shade of gold.

“Mommy!” she giggles when she sees you. Leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, you watch your husband set your daughter back down on the ground with a soft smile on his face.

“Sleep well?” you ask, ruffling her hair. She nods happily and bounces back to the stove. Her latest obsession has been cooking in the kitchen, though you’re not sure when exactly she moved on from “potion-making” in the backyard.

“Morning,” Ushijima murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Happy birthday, handsome,” you tease, leaning into his chest. As the words leave your mouth, the sunny morning haze cools into desaturated blue. But it’s been thirty-two years, you reason with a hard swallow. Maybe the cycle has broken. Your eyes dart to your daughter’s little figure on the stepping stool, her small hands gripping the spatula flipping a bronzed pancake over to its pale side. How would she…

You steel yourself, though a small fissure can’t help but open in your heart from the force.

She isn’t your first child and she won’t be your last. Time, you’ve learned, likes to play games, likes to set you on the same storyline again and again just to see if another ending will show itself. There will be more tomorrows and more yesterdays. There always is.

But that doesn’t make todays hurt any less.

Ushijima tilts his head to the side, olive eyes peering into yours. “Is everything okay?” He never misses (or missed) anything–– not when the two of you were heisting in Switzerland or revelling in Alexandria like Dionysians, not when you were crammed in the same codebreaking room during World War I or sailed across the Atlantic to your doom in 1912. Not now.

But you’re tired of carrying each bygone lifetime into the next. Willing yourself to forget the fact that you’ve seen him die again and again on August 13th, you put everything into the lie that slips your teeth: “More than okay.”

You choose to cherish the present.

“Order up!” your daughter exclaims, proudly presenting the plate of pancakes to you and Ushijima. “I even made one shaped like a heart for Dad for his birthday!”

With a grin, you come closer to inspect the heart-shaped pancake. “Excellent work, sous chef!” you compliment, tapping her nose lightly. It’s sharp like her father’s. She, however, inherited your eyes. You turn around to face your husband. “What does Head Chef Ushijima think?”

Smiling softly, he takes the plate from her hands and, without a second look, says, “It’s perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Breakfast passes in a blur of laughter and honey.

(You think you have gone through another August 13th unscathed when night falls and all of your friends exit through the cherry wood doors of one of Tokyo’s finest restaurants. On the car ride home, however, your white SUV swerves to avoid a deer in the road and flips once, twice, three times.

You wake up neither a mother nor a wife.)

TOKYO, JAPAN, 2020

A subtle sigh of relief exits your lungs when Ushijima Wakatoshi enters through the front door at 12:01 AM, red Team Japan suitcase in hand. He’s back from the airport. More importantly, he’s alive.

“Did I make it?” he asks with an upturned corner of his mouth. His olive eyes are half-closed from the exhausting transatlantic flight and his muscles are still a bit sore from how vigorously he played the game against Argentina (Oikawa’s team, for god’s sake)... but he’s here.

And he can’t be any happier.

You know that he’s talking about the time, probably hoping to joke that coming home to you is the best birthday present he can imagine. In that regard, he technically hasn’t made it.

And yet, you leap into his arms and press kisses all over his face as you repeat “yes” again

and again

and again.

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader #ushijima scenarios #ushijima imagines #ushijima fluff #ushijima angst #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq!! #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!! scenarios #hq!! scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq!! x reader #hq!! imagines

[angryschnauzer]

Do You Want Some Hunny

Summary: Your roommate brings you to a Halloween costume party and your costume is Winnie The Pooh, and you find another resident of the Hundred Acre Wood there who shows you just how well Tiggers can bounce.

Pairing; Henry Cavill x Female Reader (Moodboard disclaimer: Usually i keep any physical images of women out of my moodboards, but i couldn’t find a shot of the shorts without a model in. It is mentioned in the story that the reader purchased the shorts and they/she were not the same as the model)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Crackfic, Smut, Public fingering, Oral Sex (female recieving), unprotected sex, Creampie.

I do not operate a tag list, but please pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story.

Masterlist can be found on AO3, Link HERE.

Do You Want Some Hunny?

You hurried along the pavement, trying to keep up with your roommate as she stalked ahead in her sky high heels, somehow managing to not get them caught in the trim of her Morticia Addams costume. You had opted for your Red Converses that matched your costume and yet still you were having to trot behind her. Fighting against the wind that whipped at your bare legs, you clung to the long parka coat you’d thrown on over your costume, cursing the fact that what you’d chosen at the last minute from an urgent amazon prime order had been more designed for warm climates.

The Winnie The Pooh ears you’d had left over from a trip to Disneyland a few years back were what started it all, a red t-shirt borrowed from your roommate that seemed a lot longer on her than you, and the only thing missing was something yellow to wear with it. You hadn’t wanted to wear a skirt, so had opted for a pair of velvet yellow shorts, however they were a lot shorter than had appeared in the photo, and were very much hotpants rather than shorts. Anyway, they had arrived just a few hours before the party, so it was them or forgo a costume, and not wanting to be a party pooper you decided to go with it. 

Following ‘Morticia’ up the porch steps, your heart sank when you saw everyone else’s costumes as they milled around; it was all spooky, dark, and horror movie costumes. Nothing as cute or fluffy as Winnie The Pooh. The host called out to your friend - her girlfriend - and you smiled as you watched the other woman who’d slicked her hair back and had drawn on a mustache to look like Gomez Addams embrace. ‘Gomez’ turned to you and grinned;

“Thanks for coming, i was worried people wouldn’t want to come, let me take your coat”

Shrugging your jacket off you handed it over and fidgeted as she glanced over your costume, you tugged at the shorts;

“Yeah, it was a last minute costume… not very Halloweeny like everyone else”

Gomez winked at you;

“Oh you’re not the only resident of the Hundred Acre Wood here tonight, c’mon, let me get you a drink seeing as my love has wandered off to behead the roses again”

-

Two hours later you were pleasantly buzzed from a couple of beers, and had been introduced to the other Hundred Acre Wood escapee that was at the party - Tigger - who tended to go by the more human name of Henry. 

Six foot of pure muscle was now animatedly installing the virtues of PC gaming having discovered you were starting to learn how to play yourself, all whilst dressed head to toe in a Tigger Onesie. On anyone else it would have looked absurd, but with the zipper undone just enough to show off an inviting patch of chest hair he managed to pull it off. And it wasn’t the only thing you wanted him to pull off. Your attention wandered to his hands and how he was able to circle a beer bottle with his fingers and your words faltered as you explained how you were the hosts girlfriends roommate, instead turning the question back to him;

“So, how do you know Gomez?”

“We’ve been working together on a production here, she’s let me stay in her guest room whilst we’re on a break from shooting”

“You’re an actor?”

He actually blushed at that point;

“Yes… and its quite refreshing to talk to someone that doesn’t immediately recognise me”

Before you could say anything a shout came from the living room;

“Come on! Movie’s about to start!”

Henry led the way and you discovered most of the seats and spots on the sofa’s were taken, finding a single soft chair as he flumped down into it, his legs spread. You paused for a moment before he took your hand without even thinking and pulled you onto his lap;

“There’s enough room for two”

The room was cold, so as the movie started you found yourself snuggling up to the warmth emitting from Henry, envious of his onesie. The room was dark and the massive screen was at the furthest point of the room so everyone’s attention was trained away from the two of you. The movie was one of those modern creep-fests, with ghosts creeping around and the stars oblivious of the entrance to hell they built their cottage on, and with every scare you clung to Henry tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you. Soon you weren’t even paying attention to the movie, your nose hooked under his chin and you let out an involuntary shiver as you were surrounded by his scent.

“Cold?” he whispered

“A little”

He reached and grabbed a blanket that had been tossed over the back of the chair, pulling it over the two of you and it suddenly felt like you were in your own little cocoon. With the warm fabric up to your shoulders you shivered again when Henry slid his hand down beneath the blanket, a grazing touch against the curve of your breast and you found your body arching for more of his touch. He turned to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as his gaze consciously focused on yours, licking your lips you gave the smallest nod as he pressed forwards. The kiss was silent and as his plump lips caressed yours you sank into his embrace, his hand finding the edge of your top and slipping beneath the fabric, moving to cup your breast through your bra. As his thumb brushed over your nipple you let out a tiny gasp, but it was enough for his tongue to slip inside your mouth. 

The kiss deepened and you shifted on his lap, suppressing another groan when you felt him starting to harden beneath you and even through the thick fabric of his onesie you could tell Tigger had a lot for you to bounce on.

Henry however had traced his wandering touch down your body and was toying with the edge of your shorts, a featherlight touch over the inseam had you gasping against his lips. His voice was low as he spoke, barely a whisper;

“Does Winnie want me to play with her Hunny Pot? I bet you’re delicious”

“Henry!” you shushed him; “We can’t, not here!”

“I wasn’t going to eat it, i was just going to taste it… for now…”

Slipping a finger beneath your shorts he hooked them to the side along with your panties, his thick digit swiping through your folds and seeking out your clit, rubbing firm tight circles against it before letting the elastic snap back into place as he brought his finger to his mouth, humming as he tasted you.

Just at that moment there was a pop and the power went out, the movie shutting down and the emergency light in the hallway the only illumination. Gomez stood and said she was going to call the power company, returning a few minutes later with the bad news that a car had taken out a utilities pole down the street, knocking out power for at least a few hours. A suggestion of heading out to a local bar was floated, with general agreement, but hidden by the noise of everyone else your groan of disappointment was both heard and felt by Henry;

“Lets stay here” he whispered; “Come up to my room. We can… snuggle…”

“Just snuggle?”

His wicked grin told you he wanted to do a whole lot more, and in the melee that followed as people searched for their coats by the light of their phones, Henry was able to lead you through the house and up the back staircase, grabbing a couple of halloween lanterns as he went. 

-

Pressed into the mattress you were buck naked as Henry pressed kisses down the valley of your breasts and across your stomach, before disappearing between your thighs. You ached to run your fingers through his hair however he still wore the Tigger Onesie, and what made the situation seem so surreal was that all you could see from between your legs was the top of Tigger’s head. 

Henry’s tongue worked utter magic on you as he slid two thick fingers into your tight hole, sucking on your clit until you were bucking beneath him, clawing at whatever your hands could reach before he suddenly pulled away;

“Fuck, that pussy tastes amazing… but i wanna be inside you…”

Kneeling between your legs he unzipped the onesie all the way, his dick springing out from the open zipper.

“You were going commando?”

He grinned at you and winked;

“I was enjoying hanging loose and free until you walked into the party… from the moment i saw you i’ve been sporting a chubby…”

Fisting his dick he lined it up with your entrance and pushed in, the both of you gasping at the feel of skin on skin and the stretch of his fat cock filling you. Setting off slowly he rolled his hips, finding that delicious spot deep inside you almost immediately;

“Fuck, Henry…. Please, harder…”

“You asked for it Winnie… just watch this Tigger bounce!”

He started to pile drive into you, fucking you into the bed you were sent to heaven and god turned you around and send you straight back down again, Henry pushing his legs further apart to get even deeper, the slapping of his balls against your ass and the thick root of his dick rubbing against your clit almost overstimulating you already, trembling around him as he fucked you even harder;

“Are you gonna cum for me, soak me in your hunny?”

“Yes… keep… keep doing that…”

Just a few more thrusts and you were cumming hard, your body gripping him tight as he slowed his thrusts. As you lay trembling with aftershocks from your orgasm, he pressed kisses to your neck and chest, muttering soft praises before he carefully pulled out;

“I’ve gotta take this off before we continue…”

“Conti…. Oh… you haven’t cum yet…”

“Nope… hope you’re ready for round two”

You watched as Henry finally stripped himself of the Tigger Onesie and you got to seem him in his full glory for the first time; dark brown curls, wide shoulders and incredible arms, a chest you just wanted to lay your head on and sleep. As your gaze unashamedly travelled further, you clenched as you followed the thick trail of hair down his stomach to his crotch, his dick still standing hard and proud, before taking in the thick thighs;

“I wanna ride you…”

He laughed, a deep rich cry of happiness as he climbed onto the bed and kissed you before rolling onto his back. Holding his dick steady he watched as you straddled his waist and positioned yourself over him, before slowly sinking down. When you were fully seated he held up his hand;

“Wait a sec…”

Grabbing your Bear Ear headband he lifted it onto your head;

“C’mon Winnie, work that Hunny Pot for me…”

Just at the moment the bedroom door opened, and in the faint light of the halloween lanterns you saw Morticia and Gomez look in shock then laugh;

“Yeah, Tigger and Winnie are fine…”

The door clicked shut and you felt a light smack on your ass, bringing your attention back to Henry. Resting your hands on his chest you rolled your hips and gave it all your worth, giving him the full rodeo. Soon you could feel him start to tremble beneath you, and he quickly sought out your clit, rubbing circles against the tight bud with his thumb as you started to cum, your walls squeezing him tight and setting his own orgasm off as you milked him dry.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, pressing kisses to your face before you rested your head on him.

-

When you woke the pale light of November 1st was creeping in through the drawn curtains, and for a moment you forgot where you were. Then the heavy muscled arm of the beast you bedded the night before pulled you closer, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back;

“Morning Winne”

“Tigger…”

His hand slid down your stomach, brushing against the patch of hair;

“Hows your hunny pot this morning?”

You hooked your leg over his as you turned your head to look at him;

“Ready to be refilled”

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfic

[theboredwritertm]

"Oh, darling, everybody sees how you look at him" fic request with Din/reader! (Please and thank you :3)

Everyone Knows

A/N: Another request done and dusted. I’ve been getting some new prompt lists ready for when I open requests back up again (not sure what tumblr etiquette is for compiling a masterlist using other people’s prompt-lists, but I’m considering doing something like that), but I still have about 4 or 5 fics to finish off before then!

Rating: PG?

Pairing: Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, a bit of alcohol, that’s about it. 

Word Count:  4500 (Me, failing to keep a story under 2k words? It’s more likely than you think)

Summary: After taking on the krayt dragon together, you’re forced to confront your feelings for Din (with a little help from everyone’s favorite marshal).   

***

The monster was unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

There’d been times aboard the Crest, when there were still thousands of miles to go between stops, that you’d sit by Din, giving him your rapt attention as he’d recount one of his many stories about a particularly terrifying beast he’d encountered. Not that he would ever call them terrifying – the man had a will of steel when it came to facing these kinds of things. And on this occasion, in the middle of the Tatooine desert, things would prove no different. 

Only this time he had you.

You were still coming into your abilities, not really sure what they meant or the true extent of what you were capable of, and amazingly enough you found you were learning a lot from watching the Child. For instance, before he came along, you had never known you could heal people. A simple experiment with Din had proven this to be true enough – the man was prone to injury in his line of work – and though it had taken a lot of concentration, enough that you were sweating by the end, it got you wondering just what other miracles your hands could perform.

Now, standing beside Din and the man who had introduced himself to you both as Cobb Vanth, you stared down into the dragon’s lair and found yourself hoping those powers might come in handy.

“So, how’re we drawin’ this thing out?” Cobb asks.

You glance back at the dozens of townsfolk and Tuskens around you, sensing their uneasiness as they shuffle from foot to foot and cast occasional apprehensive glances in the direction of the danger and you’re surprised to see a couple of the Raiders step forward. Considering how well their peoples’ last attempt to draw out the beast had gone, you hadn’t expected any of them to be so willing to approach the pit again. 

Cobb glances over at them and cocks his head in immediate acceptance. Given his past troubles with their people, he can’t say he’s overly concerned over the prospect of losing a few more of them.

But you’ve never been one to stand by and watch people get hurt.

“No, wait.” The words leave your mouth automatically. Up until this point, you’d been feeling completely useless. Din had been keeping an even closer watch on you than usual since a stunt you had pulled back on Nevarro; one that had involved your unpredictable powers and the dozens of stormtroopers who’d had him cornered. Though he had come out of the situation a lot worse for wear than you had, he’d been hovering over you, keeping you a safe distance from any action ever since. You were starting to get sick of being kept on the sidelines. “I can do it,” you say. 

The Tuskens turn to look back at you, not able to understand what you’ve said, but sensing a potential change of plans, then their attention is drawn to the Mandalorian beside you as he quickly dashes their hopes. 

“No,” comes Din’s clear, expected response.

You turn to him. “I can handle this.”

“No. You’re staying where you are.”

You gaze at him for just a moment, anger starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach, before turning around and striding down the tall dune, towards the gaping mouth of the empty saarlac pit. You know better than to argue – you don’t have the time right now, but every time you did, he managed to use it as a way to distract you. You wouldn’t give him that opportunity now. You’d already made up your mind.

You feel the air stir as his hand shoots out to grab you, but you’re too quick; one of the things that’s managed to keep you alive this long, but now maybe the very thing that’s going to get you killed. 

“Dank Farrik!”

Cobb glances between the man beside him and your retreating form, attempting to hold back a smirk. In the short couple of days that he’s known you both, he’s already witnessed at least three separate arguments, none of which seemed to get either of you anywhere. He didn’t see this one going the big guy’s way, either.  

The modulator seems to amplify the frustration in Din’s voice, but you ignore it. You were more than capable of looking out for yourself, as you had proven to him numerous times now, and whatever problem he had with that was his own – you weren’t about to let his fears hold you back. Yet, as you draw closer to the yawning darkness, your heart begins to thud in your chest. For the first time, you feel the enormity of this creature, and you’ve never felt so small in your life. 

You sense him approach before you hear him. That was one advantage you’d always had over Din; he could never sneak up on you.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of watching everyone else do everything,” you say, finally coming to a stop, your gaze still trained forward, “I want to play my part. I need to play my part.”

“No, you need to stay safe.” His words sound threatening despite their context, but you ignore him once more. This time he does grab you, catching you around the forearm as you raise your hands in the direction of the cave. “Stop!”You’re tempted to use your powers to throw him off, but you can feel how much he means it and you’re struck with a sudden guilt. He cares. That’s all there is to it. 

“Please, let me do this.” You stare up into his helmet and feel him gazing back, considering things. His fingers loosen from your wrist. 

“Fine. But I’m staying with you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, not bothering to hide your bitterness at the constant babysitting – though, if you’re being honest, you do feel better with him by your side.

You raise your hands again and close your eyes, focusing on the low hum of energy around you. You don’t feel it at first, but then its as if you’ve suddenly locked onto a connection – plugged yourself into an electric charge – and everything suddenly feels heightened. Everything feels more. You draw on from that, concentrating on the pit of darkness before you, then you push forward with your mind, reaching out. In the darkness, something stirs.

“What is it?” Din asks, as if he’s sensed the sudden change.

“I feel it,” you reply, eyes still closed, your brow now marked with a frown. 

He stares down at you and you finally open your eyes to meet his gaze (as much as you can through the helmet) but before either of you can say anything, a low rumbling begins to emit from the ground.

It had worked. 

And it was heading right for you. 

You’ll admit that, as much you’d wanted to play your part in this, you hadn’t really considered what came next once you did manage to draw the thing out. So now, as you watch the sand shift and begin to rise a hundred or so feet in front of you, you find yourself rooted to the spot. 

It’s Din who moves first.

Your hands had come up again, all you can think to do to hold the beast off, then suddenly a strong arm is wrapping around your waist and you’re being propelled into the air. You glance down just in time to see the enormous mouth erupt from the ground where you had just been standing.

This time, you don’t argue. You clutch onto him, air whipping through your hair, thankful that he’s just as stubborn as you are.

When you finally land, he sets you on your feet and quickly glances down to make sure you’re alright. You give him a quick nod, sensing the question in his gaze, and then he takes off again to rejoin the action. It takes you a moment to regain your balance, and you still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, but when you glance back you find that he’s set you down by the landspeeder, with the Child. He’s put you back at the kids’ table. 

You give a frustrated growl and the baby blinks curiously at you, eyes full of wonder. He’s just happy to be here, close to someone he likes. You offer a reassuring stroke over his little head, then turn to stalk back down the dunes; back towards the rest of the group whose lives apparently don’t mean as much to Din, since he’s more them happy for them to join in despite them having little-to-no fighting experience. You’re not about to sit back and watch them all die. 

As the dragon bursts out of the sand once more, the Tuskens and townsfolk begin firing harpoons into its side – a desperate attempt to keep it in place – and you watch as it wrenches itself free with a simple shake of its body. There’s no way this plan is going to work.

When you arrive back by Din’s side, he simply looks at you, not even bothering to admonish you, knowing it’s not going to get him anywhere at this point anyway. But as you look at him, a silent warning to not push you aside again, he sees you’ve got that same look in your eyes now as you had back on Nevarro. And it worries him. 

You move off together as a unit as the dragon begins its assault, firing with everything you’ve got to get its attention – in your case, your trusty blaster pistol – stopping only when it opens its jaws wide and proceeds to spit boiling acid down onto anyone within its reach. You watch in horror as people are disintegrated before your eyes.

A massive explosion beneath it distracts it long enough for any survivors to get clear of its path, and the creature suddenly dives.

You wait, watching for any sign that it’s coming back up, but the smoking landscape is silent and still. Yet, something doesn’t feel right.

“I don’t think it’s dead,” Cobb says, voicing your concern, and you exchange worried glances.

“Me neither,” Din replies. His grip tightens on his blaster, waiting.

Then suddenly, up on the mountain, the creature bursts forth once more. It opens its mouth wide and you glance down at the people in its path about to be annihilated. You can’t watch this happen again. Moving as fast as your feet can carry you, you rush down towards them, shoving them aside with a powerful force-push seconds before the acid hits the sand, clearing them of its path just in time – leaving you in a tricky predicament. You’ve caught its attention now – and you have nowhere to go.

You catch the sound of jetpacks as Cobb and Din land either side of you, weapons raised and ready to come to your defense.

“Get back!” Din barks at you, and you find you have no choice but to listen to him. Failing to do so now, even just to prove a point, and you’re certain you’d be the dragon’s next meal. You’d pick your hill to die on one day, but this just wasn’t it. 

Din and Cobb take off into the air again, firing their weapons to draw the dragon’s attention away and give you time to escape. It works. The dragon, furious from the sudden new assault, turns and comes after them, spraying up sand as it whips its massive body in the new direction.  

As you watch them draw it further away, you can’t help but wonder what the plan is, since the original one has long fallen apart. They can’t keep drawing it away forever. Now that you have minute to breath, you look around for a way to help, and spot the explosives-laden bantha that had been led down as bait. It looks like it would rather be anywhere else and, hell, you don’t blame it, but glancing between it and the massive monster that currently has its sights set on the one man who never failed to put himself in the path of danger for you, you think maybe it was time to return the favor and finish this once and for all.

So, you grab the bellowing, hairy animal by its halter and do something stupid.

You start yelling. And waving your arms. And when that fails to grab the dragon’s attention, you start firing your weapon. Taking your odd behavior as some kind of cue, the townsfolk closest to you begin firing, too, and finally the dragon turns to face this latest assault, drawn to the movement of your waving arms and the scent wafting from the bantha. 

You spot the two armored men, now free of the dragon’s attention, flying up from the mountain before one in particular makes a sudden beeline in your direction. You can practically feel Din’s wrath radiating off of him before he even gets close, and it’s like the bantha can, too, as it begins to protest and pull against its rope. Or maybe it’s the giant monster coming to swallow it whole that has it so skittish.  Either way, you feel like an ass as you try to calm it down, knowing the only reason you’re doing so is to keep it in place long enough to be eaten.

You’re grateful to have the marshal land behind you first as Din drops down in front, poised to lose his absolute mind at you for your reckless behavior, but finding the situation momentarily put on-hold as Cobb asks to no one in particular, “Now what?”

Din’s staring at you, gaze heavy, burning, and humiliating all in one, but he doesn’t have time to berate you as the dragon breaks from a nearby dune. “I have an idea,” he says, and before either you or Cobb can ask what that is, he shoves you into the marshal’s arms and sets off the man’s jetpack, sending you both careening up and away from the dragon’s path – and leaving him right in the middle of it. 

You had come to suspect that you were in pretty deep with Din Djarin, ever since he had first rescued you many years ago, but watching him disappear into the enormous jaws of the krayt dragon was a lesson you had never asked for in how you really felt about him. Even as everyone around you falls into a stunned silence, your ears begin to buzz and you have to fight to keep your footing, absently leaning against Cobb for support as the energy drains from your legs. Cobb reaches for you but misses as you collapse down onto the sand by his feet. Your throat starts to tighten. Everything feels hazy. 

This can’t be it. This can’t be the way it happens. 

Then the beast erupts from the sand once more and you spot a familiar shape fly out of its roaring mouth. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Suddenly, you can breathe again. Then you’re back on your feet and racing towards him.

The huge blast that follows knocks you back and you hold an arm across your eyes to protect them from the cloud of sand billowing from the site of the explosion, but even that’s not enough to stop you as you keep your sights trained on the metal armor glistening in the hot sun. 

When you finally reach Din, you stand for a moment looking at him, then a sound escapes you halfway between a sob and shout, and you shove him – hard. He stumbles backwards but remains on his feet.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You don’t think you’ve ever been this angry in your life. Fury radiates from every cell in your body, and still Din just stares at you. Then you hug him. Neither of you are expecting it, and his body stiffens immediately in surprise, but when you feel him relax and one of his arms comes up to wrap around you in return, everything suddenly feels right again. You couldn’t care less that he’s covered in gross dragon goo and that it’s probably getting all over your clothes, or that there’s a crowd of onlookers witnessing this moment between you – all you care about is the fact that he’s here, that he’s still alive. 

A cheer erupts behind you as you part, and it’s not for you and Din, but for the smoking remains of the dragon nearby, and it’s soon joined by the howls of the Tuskens as they raise their weapons in victory. 

It’s over. It’s done. And as you look up at Din, you can think of many things worth celebrating.

***

And celebrate, you do. 

As much as he had wanted to make a quiet exit once he had collected his promised armor from Cobb, you had managed to convince Din to stay in Mos Pelgo just a little longer for the revelries. It had been a long time since you’d stayed anywhere close to civilization, let alone had a good reason to celebrate; and though you’d grown used to the comfortable silence of the Razor Crest, there’s some comfort in being surrounded by happy, chattering people for once, instead of the lonely vacuum of space.

Cobb had asked you back personally for a couple of drinks at the bar, and though the invitation had been extended to both of you, Din had failed to take it that way. In hindsight, you suppose your initial run-in with Cobb is to blame for this sudden standoffish behavior, since your contribution to convincing the man to hand over the beskar had involved you telling him that the helmet was ‘a waste on a face like his’. You guess that comment hadn’t sat too well with Din, but it had just sort of slipped out. What could you say? The guy was a looker. Yet even now, as Cobb glances over at your table from the bar, offering a warm, friendly smile in your direction, you find yourself distracted. 

You look around and finally spot Din. He’d been radiating quiet irritation since arriving back, and stands now in the furthest corner of the room, watching the festivities with what you imagined was a sulky expression beneath the helmet. The Child sits by his feet, on the sandy floor, playing with something round and shiny, completely absorbed in his own little world.

“I take it Mandalorian’s aren’t much for parties,” Cobb comments as he finally reaches your side with drinks, breaking you from you trance. He sits down beside you and slides one of the glasses of bright-blue liquid your way.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He nods over towards Din whose gaze is currently burning into you, and you shift uncomfortably trying to find somewhere else to direct your attention, unsure why you don’t just look at Cobb. You realize why when your eyes shift back to him and the feeling of being watched intensifies. 

“Him?” you reply, trying to sound casual, now hyperaware that Din is currently reading every detail of this interaction, “Oh, he usually just prefers the quiet, you know? Not really the social type. He’s only here because I asked.”

“Just watching over his girl, huh?” Cobb teases, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“His gir—What are talking about?”

He frowns before giving you a knowing look, then risks a quick, pointed glance towards Din, who he’s noticed hasn’t turned his gaze away from you for longer than a few seconds the entire evening. 

“We’re just friends,” you tell him, even if that label doesn’t feel quite right to you. “It’s not like that.” You take a mouthful of drink just to give yourself something to do, and wince at the unexpected bitterness. When you glance back over at Din, your cheeks heat up a little when you realize he’s still looking back. You finally drop your gaze away, reassuring yourself that the weird feeling you’ve suddenly gotten in your stomach is just the alcohol taking affect, but when you look back at Cobb you catch him smirking at you. 

“We’re friends,” you repeat, wondering who you’re trying to convince now, since Cobb seems pretty damn decided on the matter. “Colleagues, you know. We’ve just been through a lot together.” You frown as he chuckles. “What?”

“I did not just spend two days listening to the two of you bicker like an old married couple, to hear you say that you two are ‘just friends’.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I just don’t look at him that way.”

“Oh, darlin’, everybody sees how you look at him.”

You think back to the desert, to your arms wrapping around him like he might disappear again at any moment; to the arm that had pulled you closer and squeezed you in return. 

You take another gulp of spotchka to calm the fluttering feeling in your belly, and shoot a quick glance over to see if he’s still looking at you.

But he’s gone.

Panic floods over you.

You look around the room, hoping you don’t look as desperate as you suddenly feel, when Cobb nudges you. You look back at him and he nods to the door, where you just manage to catch a flash of cape and armor and Din disappears through it into the night.

Cobb smiles. “Go on. Go talk to the guy. I’ll still be here if you want another drink. If not, I hope we meet again someday.” He tips his glass towards you and you nod, managing a brief smile of appreciation as you stand. 

Your legs feel heavy as you walk towards the exit. It’s dark outside – almost pitch black aside from a scattering of light coming through a few windows, and the few fires burning outside to keep people warm on the cold desert night – and you breathe a sigh of relief as you spot Din still standing out on the road. It looks like the kid is giving him some trouble, his fussy cries reaching your ears easily in the quiet. He settles as soon as he sees you, though, and Din turns to see what has the ability to calm him so quickly. 

Of course, it’s you, he thinks. He should have known – you have the same effect on him.

“Hey,” you greet, still fighting back these unexplained nerves as you approach him. You’d known him for years, spent a lot of time in his company, and been through a lot together, but it’s the first time you feel nervous around him.

“Hey,” he replies simply, “I was just heading to take him back to the ship.” He pauses like he’s weighing up what he wants to say next, then adds, “When should I expect you back?”

“Back?”

“I can meet you there in the morning if that’s more suitable.” 

He’s acting weird, and though you know exactly why, you can’t help but frown at the bitterness in his tone. He’s trying to keep it cool and calm around the kid. You wonder what he’d be saying instead if it was just the two of you. 

“Why would you do that? Why would—” You hate what he’s implying, but you need him to say it, to admit why it’s a problem for him – to know if Cobb’s right. “Where am I supposed to be in all of this?”

You stare at him, the question written on your furrowed brow, wondering if he has the guts to admit the accusation outright. 

He looks back towards the bar and then back at you, cocking his helmet as if he’s expecting you to be the one to make the confession, even if there is a low rage bubbling away inside of him at the thought of it. He thinks back to the desert, to the feeling of your arms wrapped around him, to the way his own arm had come up instinctually to hold you closer, and he thinks of how much he wants that again.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” you tell him.

“Don’t do that on my account,” he replies, and you swear he says things like that just to piss you off. 

Before you can formulate a response, he turns away and starts walking towards his borrowed landspeeder. The Child looks back at you over his shoulder and stretches his little arms towards you with a cry, but Din ignores it.

You almost shout his name, forgetting for a moment where you are, and instead splutter out an awkward ‘Mando!’, which you haven’t called him in over a year; not since he entrusted you with his true name. He stops and slowly turns back. By now the kid is wriggling and fussing so much in his arms that he has to put him down, and the little one immediately heads towards you, reaching up to be held. You scoop him up and Din watches as the kid coos happily and buries his face in your hair. He’d thought they were leaving without you, Din realizes, and he can’t help but wonder if the kid’s picked up on his own emotions too – at his own distress at the thought of leaving you behind. 

He watches you for a moment as you soothe the Child, observing the tender way you fuss over him, and feels guilt start to creep over him.

“I am doing it on your account,” you tell him firmly, after a moment, finally looking back at him again, and his helmet tilts slightly as he stares back at you. You screw up your face like you hate the idea of having to say the next words out loud, but you do anyway for his sake. “I’m not interested in the marshal.”

He makes a non-committal noise like he either doesn’t believe you or he’s pretending it’s not a big deal, and you roll your eyes, turning your attention back to the kid. 

You wonder what you can say, how you’re going to make him understand what you’re feeling, because you can’t go back to the ship like this – things can’t just keep on going how they have been, with the arguments and all these unspoken words that are causing them. So, you step forward, closing the gap between the two of you as you rest a hand against his chest plate to get his attention. 

Din stares down at you, heart thumping as he tries to read your expression and figure out what you’re going to say before you say it, hoping he’ll be less caught off guard this way.

You reach up to the back of his helmet, guiding him down towards you, muttering, “Come here, you idiot.” Then you press your forehead to the cold beskar of his helmet and find a way to tell him.

“Where you go, I go.”

He seems to understand that well enough. 

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #mando x reader #fic requests #cobb vanth #din djarin #din djarin imagines